Deartháir
by Nicholas de Vilance
Summary: For young Malise Neal, life pretty much sucked. She was in desperate need of a big brother to help her along in life. //slash in later chapters. ConnMurph. M for explicitness, you have been warned!//
1. Run Down

Nicholas: A Chapter fic to replace What Makes Me Different because I hit a major writer's block (The type of thing you don't come back from). Becki and I are co-writing this.

Disclaimer: I don't own Connor, Murphy or the concept of their Sainthood that Duffy came up with. Becki owns Malise (pronounced like Melissa) and the other characters that are to come up such as Tony Trosera and the Roe family are real people and The Mug (you'll see later) is a real diner.

Rating: T...future stuff like cursing, violence and some naughty sexualness will make the rating go up, but for now...

* * *

The day was too warm for Connor to be accustomed to. From New York, New York to Southern California is a big change—_big_ change. A hot sun burned mercilessly down on the back of his neck and he suddenly understood why all of those kids had long hair…Still, he loved the sun, so it wasn't _too_ bad. He snickered to himself when he thought of how his vampire-like twin was faring. No doubt Murphy had secluded himself in their current place of residence—a dingy motel.

Finally sweating too much to stand it, Connor took off his p-coat and slung it over his shoulder after taking his newly-purchased pack of cigarettes out and stuffing it into his right jeans pocket. He was walking down a loud, busy drive called Kendall looking at his surroundings, getting to know this place he was staying in. San Bernardino, it was called.

He was in no hurry to get back. They'd just got here yesterday and he was almost sure they wouldn't do anything drastic until they were certain of all of the details and that usually took a few days or weeks to work out. They had to have everything perfect or they'd fuck up again, like they'd done with Rocco and even Da. Nope, they would _not_ fuck up again.

Then, he was jarred from his unconscious, thought-filled wandering by a body flying out of nowhere. A loud cry that he knew wasn't his own because of the feminine tone quality of it. The next moment passed in slow motion. Connor stumbled backward and off of the sidewalk with the girl still falling, pushing against him. A notebook of some sort flew from her arms and a loud, heart-wrenching gasp caught in her throat as she reached out to grab it before it fell into the street. Taking advantage of his longer arm span, Connor quickly snatched the note book back, hooked an arm around the girl's waist and pulled the whole package back on to the sidewalk just in time to not get hit by a city bus—because the bus drivers of San Bernardino could care less if you jump in front of them.

In an instant, Connor was sitting crossed-legged on the ground, slowing his heart rate as time sped up again. The girl that'd run into him was sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest and that notebook once more bound tightly to her chest with arms that had turned to steel. She stared astounded at the bus that had just passed.

"Thank ye, Lord Almighty," Connor muttered on a gasped breath, crossing him self as he spoke. He looked up at her, noticed that her black, messenger hat almost covered her eyes. "Are ye alright?" he asked more concerned than angry that he'd just almost been killed.

Abruptly, she looked up. It seemed to be the first time she'd noticed him at all and her eyes went wide—revealing the hazel green with the ring of gold around the pupil and all of it's glory. "Um…uh…" She was scared stiff.

As if her random, and rather startling arrival wasn't enough to throw him off, the next few seconds were taken over by three high school boys—rather large in relative size—coming forth from the street she'd just ran out of. "Hey Malise, where the fuck do you think you're going? Hand over the damn notebook." The tallest, thinnest guy—with the longest hair, as well—reached down to her and gripped the bundle of papers, tugging sharply.

Connor was completely ignored in the following proceedings and for a moment he just watched what was going on. Malise clutched desperately to that journal as though it was her life that these kids were trying to take away from her. With a sigh, Connor pushed himself up, picked up his coat and smacked the tallest guy with it. He didn't care how much intimidating stature the teenager had, Connor had more.

"Who the fuck are you?"

With an acute glare, Connor shoved the kid backward. "That en't any o' yer fuckin' business, now get yer hands off the girl er yer gonna get a fuckin' knife in yer ribs." To add effect, Connor inched his switchblade from his left pocket.

It's amazing what a tiny threat can do to a kid with only half a backbone. The long-haired high school student and his friends gave Connor strange looks, most like for his accent and the fact that he'd basically said he'd kill one of them. Then the three took off back down the street they'd come.

"Are ya alright?" Connor repeated, offering a hand to help Malise to her feet.

With a hesitant, but sharp nod, she took his hand and pulled herself up—doing most of the work as opposed to actually letting Connor help her. "I'm so sorry," she muttered meekly. "I didn't mean to run into you."

Wait a sec…Connor noticed something odd about her then. "Are ye cryin'? What's wrong?" He bent his head down to see under the brim of her hat were there were definitely black, mascara-ish tear tracks rolling down her cheeks. "Don' cry 'cause o' those jerk offs."

She looked up at him at last showing him her entire face with a slight smile. "No, I'm alright, really." Something about the way she said it told him she was lying, but it wasn't really his business. She giggled quietly at him and looked away shyly.

"What?"

"You…you have a strange accent," she commented quietly, almost inaudible over the sound of the traffic.

Finally having made her a tad bit less distraught, Connor smirked lightly. "Aye, well I think it's cool."

"It is, it's nice." She almost sounded apologetic, like she hadn't meant to insult him—even though there was no insult in her words. "Thank you, again for scaring them off. I'd like to repay you if you let me…"

"Ya don' have ta, really."

"No, I feel like I should. Would you like to get lunch? I know a good place."

* * *

They walked together, introducing themselves and making the air between them less stiff and dry. Working out the uncomfortable chinks to replace them with something like a mutual familiarity where they could laugh a bit more easily. Connor helped her get the mascara from her cheeks with a piece of cloth that she apparently carried around for just that purpose.

"Thank you," she said appreciatively.

"No problem." He handed her back her handkerchief and put his hand in his pocket—his other still held his coat over his shoulder. "Just payin' me debt ta society."

"There's no such thing as a 'debt to society.' It's stupid thinking that you owe something to the people you are forced to be with." Malise felt an uncertain silence creep in between them and she looked up from her shoes for once.

"D'ya see it that way?" her new travel companion asked. She nodded indifferently. "Well, if that's yer point o' view, then it makes some sense I s'pose. Still, if that were true, then ya wouldn't o' had someone save yer notebook, an' I wouldn't be gettin' treated ta lunch, now would I?"

She smiled slightly and her shiny, metal braces poked out from the boundary of her tight, full lips. On a strange train of thought, Connor realized that she was quite pretty even though she seemed to hide it beneath her hat. "I have yet to meet someone that I truly desire to live with. Someone who would make this world just a bit less dry and boring."

"Ah, yer a romantic." He said it as though he'd just reach an epiphany.

"So what if I am?" Her smile hadn't gone away. "I'm young, as they tell me. I'm supposed to be eccentric, right?"

Connor chuckled lightly and lifted his hands to concede to her explanation. "Sorry, that just seems like something my brother would say. 'Cept he en't that young anymore."

"You have a brother?"

"Twin actually," he stated, with so much pride that he almost seemed childish. Malise smiled once more, very widely and Connor noticed just how…empty it was, and painfully void of anything that could be called happiness. He didn't comment, but it made him suddenly go silent and they finished their walk that way.


	2. Mood Swingers

Tap…tap…tap. tap. taptaptap….Murphy's heel bounced up and down against the cheap carpet of that two-bed motel room that he and his brother were to be staying in for a while to come. He wasn't exactly impatient in the sense that he was waiting and expecting something—he knew Connor shouldn't be home for another few hours at least. What was getting to him was the _heat_. It was too damn hot for mid-Spring. Even with the air conditioning going full-blast he felt sticky with sweat and grumpy with fatigue.

Then add to that another discomfort. He was so hungry he was seriously considering devouring a part of his own arm for some sort of relief. Would Connor bring back food, or would Murphy have to go out in that horrible, hot weather to scrounge something up for himself? He hated doing things for himself. It took the fun out of getting it. He found it much more amusing bugging Connor for something than just getting up and getting it himself.

Murphy held a gun to keep his hands busy. There wasn't much else that they carried with them that he could "play" with to occupy him. Last time his hands had been so unused, he'd made his own scalp bleed by scratching it too much. Connor'd given him hell for that. Murphy smirk at the memory until a low rumble shook his belly. He was _so_ hungry!!

He hadn't eaten since the day before, he was sure of it. And now, because of that, his stomach made angry noises that translated as "Fuck you, Murphy! Stop being a fucking anorexic." Of course, his stomach has as bad of language as he does, it only makes perfect sense.

* * *

Once they were past the train tracks and walking down Cajon Blvd. Connor was quite proud of himself that he'd managed to keep his young friend smiling—even though it was that dreadfully fake smile, it seemed to be the only one she knew, so he lived with it. The only reason he had stopped walking was because he felt Malise suddenly tug his arm. Her stride had halted so he came to a sudden stop beside her. The look on her face was startling in the least. The abrupt adoption of a troubled frown had Connor's heart in his throat. It felt so strange for him to be _afraid_ of her, but that's how it was. She just switched so easily that is made him truly believe that her laughing and smiling was all a façade; a play.

Once he'd gotten past her sudden fearful gaze, he followed it with his own until he saw what he was sure she saw. The diner she'd been speaking of called The Mug stood in all of its quaint, small glory on the side of the road with a wreath of bustling, excited crows around it. It was apparently these people that made her so intimidated that she couldn't move to take another step.

"What's wrong?" he asked dumbly. He felt drastically left out on some information vital to understanding the situation, and he was an info-junkie. He needed to know what was happening: when, where, why and how. That's just the way he was brought up.

"Nothing…" It was obviously a lie, and I very much doubt I had to tell my reader that. "On second thought, maybe we should get take out. Chinese sound good?"

"Sure, I gotta get somethin' fer Murph anyway…Who…?"

"Some cousins of mine that I seriously don't want to deal with right now." She tightened her grip slightly on his arm for just a moment and Connor could almost swear that it was because one of these particularly frightening people looked over at the two of them. She took in a deep breath before tugging him back towards the train tacks. "Where do you live? I'll try to think of a place near there."

* * *

Un-fucking-believable! Murphy's foot had just completed its seven hundred and twenty-fourth tap when his stomach made its loudest, most alarming groan yet. "I'm gonna keel over an' die real quick," he muttered, putting his hand over his angry belly. To distract himself, he put his hand in his pocket and proceeded to fish around for something divine to chase away the annoyance and utter boredom in his head.

How the fuck long had he been sitting there? He checked his wrist that he then realized didn't not have a watch. With a slight chuckle at his own stupidity, he remembered the few beers he'd had that morning—completely forgetting that "noon rule" that Da had tried to enforce once. Few…no wait…it was more like the entire six-pack. Oh damn…it _was_ the entire six-pack and Connor was not going to have anything nice to say about that.

While Murphy was laughing at himself, he leaned over the back of his chair—he was currently sitting backwards. He reached across the table for the holster that held his gun and as he was pulling it towards him, something black rolled from underneath it. Murphy picked up the little black bottle that said Nail Polish and thought for a moment. Then he looked down at his overly-grown toenails on his bare feet and thought a bit longer…Well, why the hell not?

After thirty or so—if not more—minutes of awkward bending and blowing cool air on the paint to let it dry, Murphy sat back in his seat with his feet propped up on the table, staring proudly at the stubby little digits that were now decorated with a shade of black… Yeah, he was bored and when he was bored he did things that might be on the border of batfuck nuts. He put his hand behind his head and puffed on his cigarette. (If you're wondering when he had time to light a cigarette in the midst of painting his toenails for the first time in his life, your guess is as good as mine.)

* * *

The sounds of University Pkwy's traffic faded into almost nonexistence when Connor and Malise were finally wandering through the hall of the motel. Ever since The Mug Diner, Connor had yet to make her smile again. He held two Styrofoam containers of Chinese food that, after much bickering over the bill, Malise had paid for.

"So I get to meet your brother?" she stated awkwardly as Connor worked at balancing the boxes on one hand while fishing through his pockets for his key with the other. "Is he as fun as you?"

"Ya think I'm fun? Well, that's a relief. I was beginnin' ta think ya thought I was an idiot. An' if ya want fun, me brother's the one ta see." For some reason, he couldn't find his key, so he tried his coat pocket—the coat which he now wore on one arm. After a moment, he almost lost the food as it teetered dangerously.

"Do you want some help?"

"Nah, I'll get it. Don' hurt me pride." He laughed ironically and then suddenly gave and "AHA!" while taking a little, silver key out and putting it in the knob. "See? Tol ya I'd get it."

Malise made a half-hearted laugh as the door swung open inward. As soon as the two of them were inside, they were almost in pain with how cold it was in there. Out of nowhere, a man ran up to Connor and almost knocked him over.

"Yer an angel among insects!" Murphy exclaimed, taking a container from his brother. It smelled like Chinese food—thank his hunger-heightened sense of smell. As soon as he noticed Malise, he grabbed his brother's chin and kissed him on the cheek while he then discreetly took Connor's coat.

As Malise stared, a bit off-guard because of this display of affection, Connor noticed the guns sitting on the table. To distract her further, he made a show of reaching around her and shutting the door while Murphy tossed the coat on the table—over the weapons. "Who's this, Conn?" Play it cool.

For a moment, Connor found himself as distracted as Malise, except his focus was on something else entirely. "This is…uh…" He stared at Murphy's feet. "Malise, what's that black stuff on yer feet?" Abruptly, both Murphy and Malise looked at _her_ shoes curiously. Connor shook his head sharply. "No, her name is Malise. Murphy, what the fuck's wrong with yer toes?"

As Murphy sat down with the food, he straightened his knee to lift his foot for all the world to see. "I got bored…did ya know ya got Nail Polish?"

Connor shook his head and set down the container. "Murphy, ye an' me are gonna have ta share that."

With a sudden sour expression, Murphy slid the Styrofoam box closer to himself. "Murphy…" Connor had a warning tone. "Don' ya act like that. _This_ is fer Malise, so we have ta share."

A pink tint rose on her cheeks. "No, you don't…I don't need it. I'll eat something when I get home."

"See?" Murphy opened the box and immediately took out the fork. "I like her. She knows what a man needs when he's been starvin' all night an' day."

"Like it'll hurt ya ta skip a few meals."

"An' just what the fuck's that s'posed ta mean?"

Connor shoved his shoulder playfully and smirked. "Malise, ye paid fer it, go ahead an' eat it. I'll eat later." He went deeper into the room and turned on a light that Murphy had kept off for sake of coolness. One look in the mini-fridge made him grunt in annoyance. "Where's the beer?"

"Well, ye heard him, Malise," Murphy stated, motioning towards the other chair at the table. He smiled when she sat down stiffly. He ignored Connor's beer-problem and shoved a bite of rice noodles in his mouth.

"Murph, seriously. If I don' have a beer I'm gonna pass out."

"Ya shoulda thought o' that b'fore ya left me home alone fer hours on end."

* * *

Nicholas: I would like to dedicate this to my aching fingers because they put up so much strain today while writing up a fanfiction for a book I just finished reading. And then, they still held up enough to write this chapter. Thank God that they healed in the time it took Becki to get on line and I can type an author's note. Applaud for my enduring fingers!!


	3. Murphy's Law

"D'ya walk everywhere ya go?" Trust Murphy not to waste any time in starting a conversation. They had barely gotten past the motel parking lot before he opened his big mouth. He had just finished an episode which included stretching and popping of joints during which Malise made disgusted faces and laughed and he just smirked and made his shoulder pop again.

"I guess I do. It's good exercise."

"O yeah. Me an' Conn used ta walk ev'rywhere, but it wasn't hot like this back in Boston." He made a dramatic show of wiping the cooled sweat from his clammy neck with the back of his hand.

"Conn and I," she stated matter-of-factly. When he gave her a strange look, she giggled quietly. "Proper English wouldn't be 'me and Conn' it would be 'Conn and I'."

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully for a few critical moments. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of being around someone who would correct his grammar. "I en't an English Major. It doesn't matter ta me." He took out a cigarette and lit up, then offered the pack to her. "Want one?"

Malise's brow creased deeply before she thought of a response. "I'm only sixteen."

"So? I been smokin' since I was ten."

He eyes went slightly wide and her smile faded. "Ten!? Really?"

"Aye…but Ma wouldn't let us near the whiskey 'til we hit late teens." A short silence feel between them in which Murphy blew smoke rings for her amusement. "I meant ta ask ya b'fore we parted ways. How come ya looked like ya were cryin' when ya sat down ta eat?"

A bit caught of guard, she found herself blushing slightly. "I didn't think I looked like I was still crying…How could you tell?"

"When me Da left me Ma, she tried ta ta hide the fact that it hurt her real bad. I could hear her cry some nights and then I noticed how she looked the next mornin'. That's kinda how ya looked."

"Oh, sorry…about your dad, I mean." The way she bowed her head so that the brim of her hat covered her eyes made him smile sadly.

"Hey…It en't so bad. 'Least I got ta meet him 'fore he died." Without elaborating on that, he took a long drag and patted her shoulder, though the contact was almost nonexistent. "An' don' ya think yer gettin' outta answerin' my question. Why were ya cryin'?"

"It's silly, really." He insisted and she once more hid her blush away under her cap. "Grades…I have F's in four of my classes and I'm afraid…I mean, my dad's not going to be too happy when he finds out."

"'s one o' them classes English?" This time she looked at him and nodded. "An' _yer_ correctin' _my_ grammar?…Just kiddin'!" They both laughed, though Malise sounded less amused—like it was an impossibility for her to become amused. "Hey, maybe ye should just tell him now so he's not surprised when the time comes."

"I don't want to…" Peculiar way that she didn't explain.

"Are ya tryin' ta get them up?" Silence and Murphy understood. "Well…I'm not really studious—barely know what the word means—but if ya asked, I'm sure that Connor'd help ya. One thing's fer sure, he's better at English than me."

"I am."

"What?"

"You would say 'better than I am.' It's a more proper wording."

When he made a sour face and stared at his cigarette almost accusingly, she couldn't help but smirk and laugh. "Jesus fuckin' Christ. How d'ya have an F in English?"

"You'll find, my friend, that there is a vast difference concerning knowing the content and doing the work."

Murphy, with a smile: "I know exactly what ya mean. 's how I was in Chemistry."

* * *

It was dark by the time Malise and Murphy actually made it to the point of standing before her front door. To stall actually ringing the doorbell, she searched through her backpack for the key she knew that she didn't have. "You don't have to wait for me to get in," she stated while rummaging through the bunch of useless junk that was needed for a "successful school life."

"I wanna make sure." His voice had an almost paternal firmness that made her feel slightly appreciated—more so than was usual.

As she looked up at him in the last bit of dim light that the sun was blessing them with, she found that her smile came automatically. She zipped up her backpack and braced herself as she rang the doorbell. "I don't want you to go out of your way for me. I feel bad that you have to walk back all by yourself in the dark."

"I'm a big boy, Malise. I can take care o' meself." He almost dropped his cigarette and squished it out beneath his shoe, but then it occurred to him that it would be a bit rude to do that on someone else's porch, so he kept it in his hand.

Then the door opened and Malise spun on her heel as if the sound had startled her. Murphy's first impression of this man screamed "SHMUCK" in the loudest voice possible—he was sure they could hear him in Denmark. Still, he wasn't one to judge by appearances. What got him were the first, slurred, drunken words out of this guy's mouth. "Where the fuck've you been, girl?"

All of this shmuck's receding hairline, unkempt facial hair, trucker hat and potbelly that protruded from beneath an old, stained T-shirt congregated into one mass of "JACKASS" when he spoke those rude words. Murphy wanted to smack him, but for Malise's sake, he kept quiet. "Who the fuck is this?" That was shot in Murphy's direction, but not actually meant for him to answer. He did anyway.

"Murphy MacManus, Sir," he introduced himself all nice and proper. "I didn't want Malise ta have ta walk home by herself so late." He extended his hand to shake but it was ignored.

"Whatever," her father slurred indifferently. His lazy eyes looked back at his daughter. "Malise Rose, get your ass inside. I don't know what the fuck you were thinking coming home after dark. You need to make me dinner."

She tried to hide her shiver, but Murphy noticed it. He didn't understand it's meaning, though (just pissed off at how this guy seemed like a slave driver). He didn't get that using both her first and middle name was her father's code for how pissed he was and how violent he'd get. Just the same, she wouldn't tell. She didn't want to worry Murphy.

"Yes sir," she said, "Bye, Murphy, and tell your brother I said thank you."

"Alright, take care." Before the Irishman left, though, he pulled Malise into a half-hug and whispered in her ear: "If yer in trouble don' worry about bringin' us inta it. It's our job." She didn't understand him, but he took off before she could inquire. What she didn't know was that he took off before he did some serious damage to that shmuck in the doorway. As soon as Murphy had disappeared, a rough hand yanked on her hair and pulled her backward through the door.

An echo went through her ears of the definite slam of that front door, separating her from the warmth of the day and of the reassuring presence Murphy had had while he was there. It was all replaced in an instant—one horrifyingly painful instant—when all she could feel was that fist in her hair and all she could hear was her father's drunken slur.

"Who the fuck was that, you whore?" She slide down to her knees, only stopped by the floor, feeling like it wanted to keep going and grind her bones and joints into little particles of dust. It hurt.

"Dad, please," she whimpered quietly. She wouldn't fight back. She knew very well that she could have, but she didn't want to—he was her father after all. "He's nobody. Just a friend."

"Lying bitch." It was the last thing she heard that night before a fist met sharply with her temple and her head fell to the side and down to meet the tile floor of the entrance hall to their quaint house. The warm comforting arms of darkness welcomed her into unconsciousness.

* * *

Nicholas: I think I pulled a Sithy with this chapter...it just reminds me of her stories. If you haven't read them... ... ... GO NOW AND READ THEM BECAUSE THEY ARE WIN AND YUM!! And if you wouldn't mind leaving me a review on the way there! Much appreciated!


	4. Gossip Girl

Connor lay on one of the beds in the room with his arms behind his head and his eyes closed. The gently humming air conditioning made it just cool enough for him to be comfortable staying in his jeans and T-shirt. His boots and socks were set precariously close to the door and his coat was still untouched on the table covering the guns—next to the Chinese food that Murphy had only half-finished. He'd eat once he got back.

The door opened suddenly, but Connor remained still with a guise as if he hadn't noticed until he heard the definite sounds of Murphy tripping over his boots and falling with all the grace of a 20's comedy film. Then his eyelids slowly slid open. A smirk rose on his face removing the remnants of his slumber-like façade. "S'up, Murph?" he said cheekily to the bundle of fallen form on the floor.

Murphy, retrieving the air that had been so rudely stolen from his lungs, let the down swing shut and pushed himself onto his elbows. "I'd say the ceiling, but now I'm not too sure." He'd landed just awkwardly enough to save the six-pack in his hands and the pack of cigarettes in his pocket (because you can't have enough cigarettes).

"Sorry 'bout that," but the snicker in his voice said otherwise. That's when Connor got up to "help" his brother, by relieving him of the Heineken and taking a can. "Yer later than I'd expected."

"What? Did ya think I'd run off with her er somethin'?"

"Well, ya have been known ta be seductive." The pop of the can's pull-tab was almost immediately followed by the sound of Connor's throat chugging down the cold, bubbly liquid like no tomorrow.

"An' ye know better 'en ta think that I'd use that talent on a sixteen-year-old girl."

"'re ya sayin' ya prefer sixteen-year-old boys, then?"

"Shut it, fuckwit."

At this, Connor's smile faded and he turned to face Murphy as his twin headed towards the bathroom. "Murphy? I was just kiddin'…what's wrong with ya?"

"He's an abusive fuck."

"The who has a what now?" In Connor's language that was "what do you mean?" and no one knows Connor's language better than Murphy.

"Her father…he treats her like she's worthless er _less_ than him er somethin' an' he's a fuckin' drunk. I don't like the way he talks ta her, _or_ me fer that matter, an' I get the feelin' he hurts her." As he spoke, he turned around and looked his brother in the eye, his face stone hard and sour. "She's afraid o' him, Conn."

After a moment's consideration Connor put his beer on the table and rubbed his temples. "Murph, we can't get involved in somethin' like that. Ya said the man was drunk, ya don' know if that's how he always is."

"She was _terrified_, Connor! Ya shoulda heard her voice when she said g'bye ta me. It was heartwrenchin'…"

"I didn't see any bruises. Technically it en't abuse 'til it leaves a mark." No that Connor wouldn't want to help her if she needed it, but he always was careful, always making sure they thought through _everything_. The last time they had gone in on a hit half-prepared, Rocco had ended up dead. It wouldn't happen again.

"That's chicken shit!" Murphy threw his arms up in an added expression of his furious voice. "Would ya really wait fer it ta get ta that point?"

"Murphy calm—"

"'Sins against thy kin,' 'member? I oughta deliver that mother fucker right fuckin' now."

"Murphy!" With the harsh snap of his voice, he shoved his brother down by the shoulders and sat him on the edge of the bed. "Shut the fuck up fer a second. Ya don' understand the delicacy o' the situation. Now, Malise could be dealin' with this on her own—assumin' yer right an' he's a dickless bastard, like ya said. Still…he's her father. Don' ye recall how much ya loved Da even tho' he took off b'fore we were old enough ta remember? She probably loves her da like that as well an' then say ya kill him an' she hates ya fer it." He noticed his brother's glare. "Ya want ta make more enemies than we already have?"

"Ya don' believe me…" It was a statement—a dangerously expressed assumption.

Connor moved to sit next to him on that cheap comforter. "O' course I do. Ya saw what ya saw. I'm just sayin' that there could be more ta this than ya think." He put an arm around his twin. "We'll help her all we can, Murph, but don' push it unless she asks fer help. 'Sides, she has ta do some of it herself."

* * *

The next morning was startlingly cool for mid-Spring in San Bernardino. It made her limbs ache until she woke up finding herself in her bed beside the window in the upstairs room. The incessant screeching of her alarm clock didn't help her head as it swayed back and forth and back again. Click and it went off. She sat up, trying to steady herself before even attempting to get up. Abruptly, Malise shoved the window closed and gingerly touched the sore lump on her temple. The contact made her eyes twitch.

It was much too cold, but Malise had to take a shower. It was the only chance she ever got to bathe—before her father woke up. The clock read in bright green numbers that split her eyes in two: 3:30 AM.

When she stepped into her small bathroom, the tile was so cold that it burned her toes. She flicked the light on and squeezed her eyes closed. After adjusting, she rid herself of the clothes she'd worn yesterday and tossed them into her hamper and then stepped into her shower and shut the door with a resounding click. Now that she was truly alone with herself and the lukewarm water that ran over her body, she cried. She cried so that she wouldn't do it later when her few friends would be able to see. She cried until it hurt to breathe.

After drying and slipping back into her dark bedroom, she dressed in various shades of gray and blue—in the dark, so she wasn't quite sure what she was wearing. Once her excess of black eyeliner was applied and she'd zipped herself into high-heeled boots that she found as comfortable as walking shoes—thus she wore them as walking shoes, she tucked her hair into her hat (covering her bruised head) and went downstairs for a quick breakfast. Bagel in hand, she left the house, not a word or sound above a whisper so that her dad wouldn't wake up and get pissed off.

"What it do, ho?" As soon as Malise sat down in her World History class (perfect to have first period, yes?), Verónica Nuñez's sweet, welcoming voice met her ears.

"Oh, hi Veró." She offered her friend a smile.

"I saw you walking home yesterday. _You_ were with a guy! And not just any guy, an _older_ guy! Who was he, dear? I want details."

There was a slight blush on Malise's face, completely blowing her chances of denying contact with another human being (of the male sort, in fact). "Which guy? I walked home with two different people at two different times."

"So now there's _two_? Speak! Names, phone numbers, addresses!" She noticed something different in Malise's smile and knew that whoever this guy was, it had a positive effect on her friend, so it was _good_. "What happened after that bastard, Isaiah chased you off for your notebook?"

At the memory, Malise unconsciously pulled her spiral notebook just a bit closer to her. "I…uh…you aren't going to leave it alone until I tell you, are you?"

"Need you ask?" Over head, the bell rang and Mr. McFarland stepped up to begin his "beginning of class" lecture. "That's no excuse no to tell me," Verónica had only lowered her voice slightly and taken her seat next to Malise.

"Well, Isaiah chased me down to Kendall and I almost got hit by a bus, but I had run into this guy who pulled me out of the way and scared Isaiah off—utterly saving my heart." (by heart, she means the notebook that she writes in constantly) "I wanted to repay him, so I was going to take him to The Mug and buy him lunch. His name's Connor…he's got an accent, and I'm certain it's Irish."

"The other guy's his brother?"

"Twin, actually, but how did you know that?"

"I didn't, you just told me." The were interrupted for a moment by Mr. McFarland kindly asking them to get to work on some assignment that they were supposedly allotted. As soon as he walked away: "and…go on!"

"Well, my cousins were hanging out outside, and you know I don't want to deal with them, so we ended up getting Chinese instead and took it to his brother, Murphy. I think they _live_ in a motel. They just came down from Boston the day before yesterday."

"Wai-wa-wa-wa-_wait_!! You wen to a _motel_ with this sexy man I saw you with? Damn, Mel, you have all the fun!"

"Oh, shut up! It isn't like that and you know it! Connor…he's not one of those sex-crazed weirdos that you hang out with. He's more like a self-proclaimed big brother. If it weren't for the tattoos, smoking and drinking, I'd call him a saint." At this, Verónica's eyebrows raised, but Malise ignored it. "And Murphy's…well, Murphy's more like a…bodyguard, I guess."

"Ah, protective, is he? Are you going to see them again?"

"Probably not."

"Girl, what the hell's the matter with you!"


	5. Sin City

The end of the day came with a deadening screech that released the bolts from cell doors to allow the flocks of creatures of this "educational" hell out into the burning, pale light of 2:30 in the afternoon. Malise slipped her sunglasses on as soon as she passed the foreboding gate of Cajon High School. It was still cool and cloudy, but the light of the hidden sun refracted through the clouds to magnify and make it almost blinding to the eyes that had spent so long inside.

"Oh you little fucker!" she heard from the side behind the school's sign out front. Verónica was smacking at one of her friends while a laughing fit broke out.

"Hey Verónica," Malise interjected shyly.

"Oh! Just the person I was looking for." She took Malise's arm gently—careful not to disturb any bruises that her friend may possess—and tugged her out of the crowd of students to point out a figure standing beside the gate down by the student parking lot. It—or he—stood out mainly because of the familiar coat and a tell tale wisp of smoke that lingered about his head. "That's _him_, ain't it?"

After a beat, Malise was certain. The person turned and was suddenly looking at her with blue eyes and a warm smile. It was definitely Connor's blond hair and tanned skin, so it had to be Connor. "Yep…that's him."

"Well, then let's go over and say hi!" Again, Veró tugged Malise along the dull, green and yellow grass towards what could have been both a godsend and a bad sign. "You have to introduce me, whether you like it or not!"

Pulling her coat just a bit tighter around her, Malise stepped quickly to meet with the man who'd saved her life the day before. "Hey, Connor," she said stiffly.

"'ello," he replied, tossing his cigarette to the ground and stamping it out with the toe of his boot. He'd been getting angry looks from security guards and that was starting to give him the hint that maybe he shouldn't be smoking in front of a school. "Hope this en't to creepy, but I wanted ta ask if I could walk ya home. Who's this?"

Malise had almost forgotten that Veró was there until he pointed her out. She'd admit that she was a bit distracted by Connor's sudden appearance. "This…uh, this is my friend Verónica Nuñez, a friend of mine. Verónica, this is Connor…"

Abruptly, Veró shook hands with the stranger. "Good to see that Malise is finally escaping her hermitage."

With a chuckle, Connor shrugged. His smile was prize-winning and almost enough to make a girl melt into her shoes. It wasn't the one that Malise had seen the day before. This one seemed more for show. "I'm glad I was o' some help, tho' 'twas rather unintentional."

There was a loud honk of a car from the street and all three looked up. "Oh cripes, that's my mom. Sorry, Mel I got to go."

"See you later, Veró."

As she ran off to fetch her stuff and went to her mother's car, Connor and Malise stood awkwardly for a while. Neither spoke before Veró sped off, but then Connor motioned that they start walking, so they did. "I'm sorry if ya find it strange that I showed up. Took me awhile ta figure out what school ya went ta, but…I'm not a stalker."

Malise smiled. "That's okay, I don't think you're a creep or anything."

A light laugh and Connor ran his hand through his hair—blond spikes licking at the tattooed word of VERITAS on his hand. That smile from the day before was back. "Well, that's a relief."

* * *

They entered the diner and were surprised to find the place actually colder than it was outside. Malise explained that it kept drunks alert enough until they at least got outside so they wouldn't go about doing _too_ stupid of shit in the place. There was racecar and football paraphernalia and signs with popular beers and spirits decorating the walls above and around the bar. Tall, burlap seats stood in front of the counter and above that was a nice, plasma screen TV playing the latest NASCAR race.

"I thought ya said this was a diner," Connor commented quietly as Malise took a seat at the bar. He followed.

"The other room looks more like a diner, this is the bar."

"I thought yer only sixteen. Ya en't s'posed ta sit at the bar." He felt slightly confused at the cheeky, empty smile she gave him. "What?"

"Tony Trozera, the guy who owns this place, he's like the grandfather I never knew, so he lets the rules slide for me." She looked around the place, noticing that the staff was not here. A regular by the name of Lucien was sitting in his usual spot in the corner, but no sign of any of the Roes. Then she saw another girl appear from the other room. "Shelby! Hey, where's your mom?"

"Oh, hi Malise, who's your friend?" Shelby Roe smoothed out her apron idly as she came a bit closer.

When Malise introduced him, Connor gave a sloppy wave that was impeded only by his attempts to hold a cigarette to his lips. "Hey, am I allowed ta smoke in here?"

"Yeah…I'll get my mom," Shelby stated with a quirky smile on her thin lips.

After much fumbling with his lighter, Connor finally had his cigarette lit. It was a while before Shelley (Shelby's mother) got around to working the bar. When she finally came by, the first words out of her mouth were: "Malise, how many times have I asked you how old you are?"

Malise grinned nervously before answering. "At least a hundred times."

"And what was your answer those hundred times?"

"Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen and sixteen."

"Point is, you aren't old enough to sit at the bar yet." Shelley put her hands on her prominent hips and pursed her lips sternly. "This means that you have to sit at a table."

"Aw, but Mamaw, you know I'll sit here once you leave anyway." Something in Malise smile was there that hadn't been before and Connor noticed it instantly. It made her seem less void of happiness.

With a hopeless sigh and rolling of the eyes, Shelley turned her attention to the stranger at the bar. "What can I do you for, sir?"

"Heineken, please."

"Well, whoever you are that this one picked up, you know your manners." She got him his beer and popped the top off easily. "What's your name stranger?"

"Connor MacManus," he replied. "It's a pleasure."

Malise ordered a pizza for them to share because even though she had money she "could only repay him so much." The air conditioning stayed biting cold so that both Malise and Connor were glad to be wearing jackets. As they ate, they talked—well Connor did most of the talking as Malise had decided to be unexpectedly shy around him all of the sudden. So he made her laugh and she occasionally made a comment or two, just to let him know she was still an intelligent being. When they had practically finished the pizza and were awaiting the bill, Connor brought up a more serious matter.

"Murphy said ya weren't passin' yer classes." The statement made Malise lower her head and once more cover her eyes with the brim of her hat. Connor reached over and lifted her face carefully. "Now don' do that. I wanted ta offer ta help ya. I'm not sayin' I'm the smartest person on the planet, but I can help ya with yer homework an' studyin' an' that nonsense."

Malise forced a smile. "I don't want to be a bother. It's my responsibility, so I have to take care of it."

"Well, that doesn't mean ya have ta do it alone." He took one long, last drag on his cigarette and then snuffed it out in an ashtray that Shelley had provided. Connor was a master of eating and smoking at the same time. "Look…come by the motel after school if ya need the help and I'll help ya."

"Okay…but I'll only do that if you walk with me from now on."

A creased eyebrow and Connor replied: "Deal." They shook on it. "Ya know, ya should let yer hair outta yer hat sometimes. I haven't seen it, but I bet it's pretty." Immediately she put a hand to her head and looked away from him. "Or ya could tell me whether er not yer father gave ya that bruise on yer head that yer tryin' ta hide," he went on, "I'm sure Murphy wants ta know whether er not he's right about yer da."

"Is that what Murphy thinks?" Her voice was trying to be nonchalant, and trying hard. It almost made for a good cover up, but Connor could tell. "He's most definitely misreading this situation. I got this bruise when I…ran into a door. It's a bit embarrassing, really."

"Well…thanks fer reassurin' me. 's all I wanted ta know." He looked her in the eyes then, a look that told her that he didn't believe her one bit. Something about it made Malise want to cry.


	6. Secret Window

Nicholas: Hey, just wanted to warn you people. This is where the pairing comes in and it's ConnMurph, so if you got into this story and that's not your thing, I'm sorry to disappoint. There were hints through the first few chapter, so don't give me any shit about pulling this out of nowhere! Love you! Please Review, even if it is to tell me that you won't read this anymore because it's incestuous (Oh LORD, not the incest!).

* * *

The next week and a half passed without another mention of Malise's bruise except for the few times that Connor checked on it to make sure it wasn't anything too serious—it was healing nicely anyway. A regular system started up with Connor meeting Malise after school and walking her to the motel, then they'd get to studying and Murphy would walk her home (though he no longer left her off at the door). Malise was content with the way it worked out until the twins somehow turned up with enough money to buy a car. She didn't ask what they did for a living that required they live in a motel, but that didn't mean she was completely comfortable with not knowing. She had a feeling that it couldn't have been anything good just because when she had asked, Connor had utterly avoided the subject.

Connor wouldn't pick her up in the car after school. He still liked getting the exercise, he claimed. That was all right with her, she liked walking. Something about wandering the streets of San Bernardino in mid-afternoon gave her a bit of freedom. It made it easier for her to laugh, especially now that the place she was going wasn't home—directly at least.

Then there came that minimum day that she'd forgotten to tell Connor about, so after school, he wasn't there. She mentally smacked herself for letting it slip her mind and went out to walk to the motel on her own.

It felt like a bit of and awkward change from the week and a half's worth of having a companion. She laughed at herself. In all honesty, she barely knew Connor and she already missed him dearly. For a moment, she wondered if she would miss Murphy like this if she had to walk home alone. Dismissing the thought, she hoped she didn't have to.

Being less distracted and having her eyes wandering about made the walk excruciatingly long, even though she was stepping quickly. It wore on her emotions not having someone to talk to at this crucial time of day, so when she at last saw the sign that read "Days Inn," she gave and audible sigh of relief. She took the stairs two at a time and searched out the door when it then occurred to her that they might not be home. What if they had a job?

Malise considered knocking, but didn't want to have no one answer, so she headed to the window beside the door. The curtain was closed as always. Intently, she looked for some place that the drape didn't cover and found a corner of the window that she could see into the room through. It overlooked the head of the bed closet to the glass and revealed the movement of shadows about the walls of the room. Reassured, she was about to then go knock when she saw something strange. Connor fell back onto the bed, his head and shoulders coming into view and his wrists held above his head somewhere.

Now, this made Malise worry slightly. She didn't quite know what to make of it, especially when Murphy's face appeared just inches from his brother's, his other hand was somewhere that Malise couldn't see—and by Connor's expression, she didn't want to see.

* * *

"I should probably go meet Malise pretty soon," Connor commented, sitting up on the bed near the window with a cigarette in hand. He looked at his twin and noticed how fidgety Murphy was being as he sat backwards in a chair at the table. "Y'alright? Ya got that look on yer face again."

"I got that feelin' again." After a moment, without Connor asking him to, Murphy elaborated. "When we killed that drug-dealer the other night…I mean before we actu'ly shot him, I got so pissed off that he'd been sellin' ta kids that…ya know, I wanted ta kill him fer me. Not God. _I_ wanted him dead whether God wanted it er not."

Connor winced slightly and took a drag as he watched Murphy's face change. He noticed the way his brother was watching him and it made him smirk. Reaching over, he took Murphy's hand and tugged him forward. "C'mere," he coaxed gently. So tenderly, the blond twin put both of his arms around his brother and held him tightly. He rocked the other slightly, but it was a comforting movement, no matter how little.

It didn't take long for Murphy to feel better, but neither MacManus wanted to let go at that point. From his knees, the dark-haired brother pressed himself between the other's legs and pulled out of the hug just enough to be face-to-face. The cigarette was set on the table and the twins' lips met softly. Well, softly at first. Five seconds gave way to a wave of passion that surged through Murphy first before he passed it on to his brother. The way Murphy was pressing forward against his mouth had Connor moving backward. His arms still clung to his twin when Murphy finally stood taller than him, but those arms were gripped and pried away so that Murphy could push Connor into to cheap comforter and motel mattress.

The kiss broke before Connor's head hit the pillow and suddenly both of his wrists were held snug in a one-handed grasp above his head. Looking downward a bit, the word AÉQUITAS was what he could make out of his brother's hand as it slipped between his legs. His breath hitched feeling those familiar strong fingers press against his jeans and make him instantly grow harder.

Murphy could live off of the looks Connor gave him and the sounds Connor made, so he teased a bit and kept his mouth just inches away from Connor's. Couldn't touch, couldn't make contact. It brought the blond one to whimpering and squirming and overall _needing_, and Murphy liked being needed. As a reward for giving him that blessed feeling, the dark twin lean down and kissed his brother's mouth gently.

* * *

Malise wasn't quite sure what to make of seeing this. In fact, it didn't quite register what it was that she was seeing. It was obvious that Murphy and Connor were doing something intimate, but…wow…

Murphy kissed and pecked at the hollow of Connor's throat and Connor closed his eyes and leaned his head back, baring his neck for more contact. Malise could barely hear a sharp sound that seemed like cry, but it was muffled by the windowpane. Still, cheap motels are hardly soundproof. In a moment of distraction, Malise barely noticed Murphy's head moving lower, out of her line of vision.

She could see Connor's chest heaving deep breaths and it escaped her comprehension what Murphy could be doing until suddenly Connor hitched and his now free hands gripped the pillow beneath him. Malise's eyes went wide and she blushed wildly. Wow…Connor's mouth opened and Malise just barely heard a muffled exclamation through the window and that's about when she looked away and stood.

Unsteadily, she smoothed down the front of her shirt and tugged her hat down on her head just a bit more. Her bag at her side seemed to be begging her to take the notebook out and write in it, and she would have, but…she'd come all this way for a study group…what she'd just seen didn't change anything, did it? Before she knew what she was doing, she knocked.

* * *

Murphy swallowed carefully and then lay his head on his brother's stomach. He listened as the aftershocks of an orgasm rippled through Connor's muscles. Some of the heavy breathing in the room was his own. "_J'ai t'aimé toujours…Je vais t'aimer toujours…_" he said. _I have always loved you; I will always love you._

"'ey, Murph?" Connor's voice was nothing more than a breathy whisper, but Murphy responded. "Did ya ever re-paint yer toenails?"

"No, why?"

"Ya should…it was cute."

With a smirked, Murphy crawled up his brother's body and pressed their mouths together one more time. Connor cradled the back of Murphy's head, twirling his fingers in the dark hair there as he moaned ever so slightly at the taste on his twin's tongue. Unfortunately, their intimacy was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Both made the same confused face.

"Who could that be?" Murphy wondered aloud. Connor just shrugged. "Okay, I'll get the door, ye zip up yer pants."

With a gentle saw to the other's head Connor said, "O, fuck ye," and righted himself as Murphy went to the door.

"Not right now, luv, we got company" was the only reply. Barely enough time for Connor to sit up straight with his legs over the side of the bed before the door opened. "Oh, hi Malise. Aren't ya s'posed ta be at school?"

Malise did indeed stand in the doorway, looking slightly flustered. Her cheeks were red and she had a hand on her hat as though she was ready to pull it down over her eyes. The MacManus twins were at a loss for the cause of her behavior, but Murphy had a hunch down in his gut that he didn't want to ask about. "Y'alright?" Connor asked for him.

"I'm fine," she stated. "It's just hot today is all. I forgot to tell you I had a minimum day, so I got out early. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, 's fine," Murphy said with a smile. "C'mon in. I'll be in the shower, tho' so…" He trailed off with that and shut the door before heading to the bathroom.

"What kinda homework ya got taday?"

"English. I have a test next Monday."

"Okay, let's get ta work then."


	7. Helen Keller

Nicholas: Hope you enjoy chapter seven. Becki wanted "Saints action" in this chapter, but I'm sorry if my idea of "Saints action" involves exposition. Anyway, here it is.

* * *

"Give an example of a Shakespearean, or Elizabethan, Sonnet." Connor was reading from a study guide for English class. He looked so teacher-like with the pen and pencil and the little pamphlet in his hands. Just something made him studious.

"Is Murphy _still_ in the shower?" Connor gave her a stern look and she shrugged and got back to thinking about the question. "_If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: my lips two blushing pilgrims ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss_." A dripping wet Murphy came into the room, distracting the girl.

He was wearing jeans and drying his hair on a towel and the way the water dripped down his chest, over his tattoo had both Malise and Connor staring. "_Good pilgrim you do wrong your hand too much._" Murphy casually lit a cigarette and searched for his shirt._ "…which mannerly devotion shows in this: for saints have hands which pilgrims' hands do touch and palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss._" With a quick smirk, Murphy pulled a T-shirt over his head, careful of the cigarette.

After deciding that Malise was too shocked to continue, Connor took up where she left off. "_Have not saints lips and holy palmers too?_"

"_Aye, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. Saints do not move, but stand for prayers' sake._"

"_Then move not while my prayers effect I take._" Connor smirked lightly. "S'pose I gotta kiss ya now?"

"Yeah, isn't that just what ya wish fer, dear?" Murphy ruffled his twin's blond hair playfully. They both knew that subliminally he meant "save it fer later," but with Malise there, it was still a secret. "It's gettin' dark. We should get you home…damn, was I in the shower that long?"

A few things that Malise wanted to say: "it's still light outside, what are you talking about?" and "I just saw you without a shirt." Instead, it came out like this: "How did you know all of those lines?"

"It was the one day I was awake in English class," Murphy stated.

* * *

They stopped by the front desk to ask the lady for towels and the lady flirted shamelessly with him—during which he pretended not to notice—then it was straight to the purple Cadillac. "It smells nice in there," Murphy commented as she opened the passenger door. "I bought an air fresh'ner."

With a smile, Malise sat down, pulled her legs in and closed her door. "You really love this car, don't you?"

"It's a good car an' fuck, I got it fer a thousand dollars even. Don' ferget yer seatbelt."

"Yes Da." This was followed by the click of her seatbelt and a cheeky smirk.

He laughed as he started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. The traffic light at the Hallmark intersection didn't work at the time, so Murphy was careful about waiting to go. Always a careful driver, Murphy was. He made through the evening rush of Walmart shoppers unscathed. At length, he spoke.

"_Ça va_?"

"What?"

"_Qu'est-ce que ta note pour le course de français?_"

"Oh…_c'est bon_." She stared at the dash before realizing that Murphy's silence was waiting for her to go on. She sighed quietly. "_Je complete mes devoirs…_"

Murphy raised an eyebrow. "_Mais…_?"

"_Mais le proffesuer est une sorciére!_"

"Hey now, that en't very nice."

"_C'est vrai. Elle est faché et très stupide_!!" Malise crossed her arms over her chest and pouted slightly. "She's an idiot pretending that she knows how to teach. She loses class work and her students suffer for her incompetence."

"Look, Malise, that's too bad but ya gotta stick through shite like that. Yer not gonna change anythin' by badmouthin' an' whinin', so stick that lip back in yer mouth an' carry on." He got a slightly irritated glare and just smiled. "Carry on my wayward son," he sang quietly.

"There'll be peace when you are done." Malise couldn't help it, she loved that song. She turned her frown upside down and giggled quietly.

That was until Murphy went on: "Hey, there's somethin' I gotta tell ya. We got work, Conn an' me so we're gonna be out tanight. 's why I'm takin' ya home early. Jus' thought ya oughta know."

Malise wasn't too thrilled about this, but she understood. "What kind of work do you guys do?"

At this, Murphy tensed just so slightly that it was barely noticeable. "God's work," he stated simply.

"God's work…you're missionaries?"

"No, not really…well sorta, I guess."

* * *

After leaving Malise off, Murphy immediately returned to the motel and found Connor ready with a duffle back in the parking lot. As soon as he was sitting in the passenger seat—where Malise had been just minutes before—they sped off for the freeway. They rode in silence for a long while, Connor staring out the window with a distant look and Murphy tapping out a beat on the steering wheel.

"I can't believe we're goin' after a woman," Connor muttered at length, "what about what Da said? 'No woman, no kids.'"

"That's what _Da_ said…" Murphy didn't look at him. He was obviously nervous about this plan that Connor had cooked up, but he had to trust his brother. "She's a homicide, Conn. Ya heard how many people called her a psychopath."

With a nod: "I know, but it just don' feel right."

"Look, if ya don' think ya can do it we'll go back home an' try ta think o' somethin' else ta do." There was no response even up to the point where Murphy pulled into a parking spot outside of the Red Fox. "Remember, clean kill. Don' pull any shite with passersby." Murphy was _really_ nervous about this plan—about letting Connor go for a hit by himself. It had to be done, though, to avoid suspicion. That's what they'd worked out (well, what _Connor_ worked out).

"Don' worry, Murphy. I'll be fine." Connor loaded and checked his favorite, old 9mm Beretta. He wouldn't cover up his apprehension in his voice—he didn't need to around Murphy—but he still smiled. "Kiss fer good luck?"

Stiffly, Murphy pulled his twin closer by the back of his neck and pressed their lips together over the gearshift. It was short, sweet and afterwards, Murphy hesitated in letting go. "Hurry back, yeah?"

"I'll be back b'fore ya know it." He opened the passenger side and stepped outside into the warm evening.

* * *

Connor lit up a cigarette before entering the Red Fox. It was dark inside, but still your stereotypical cocktail bar. Surprisingly there were few people for a Friday night, so Connor had no problem in seeing his target (it felt strange considering the woman a "target"). A lady sat at the bar, legs wrapped in light blue jeans crossed at the knees, arms stretching out of soft, white sleeves and laying on the bar. With a quick look around, Connor walked up and took a seat next to her.

"Ya aren't savin' this seat fer anyone are ya?" he asked sheepishly.

She looked up with pure blue eyes and shook her head, motioning for him to sit. He did and took a drag. Shyly, she watched him out of the corner of her eye with a smile. After a moment, she tapped him on the shoulder.

She didn't say anything, but she motioned to his cigarette, then herself with a questioning look. This was repeated a few times before Connor understood.

"O, ya want a cigarette?" She nodded so he handed her one and lit it for her. "Are ye mute? Well, o' course ya are, 'relse ya wouldn't have gone through all that ta bum a smoke."

With a smile, she nodded and blew smoke at the ceiling. She put a hand to her mouth and brought it downward halfway. It meant thank you.

"Yer welcome," Connor said. "What's yer name?"

She raised her right hand and began to spell. It had to be done a second time so Connor could awaken his rusty sign language skills. It'd been a while. "Lauren? Lauren Carr." She nodded. "…This may sound strange, but yer just the person I was lookin' fer."

Her brow furrowed and she questioned him with a hand sign. She had not seen him before, she said. "Who are you?"

For a moment he considered the risks of giving out his real name, so instead he went with his middle name. "Adam." She continued to sign, even with her cigarette in her hands. "I got some questions fer ya," he explained. "D'ya remember Sheryl Locke?"

At this, Lauren perked on her stool and leaned warily away from him with a cautious nod. Her hands asked. "Why do you ask?"

"How old was she?" She flicked her index finger twice: eleven. "She died pretty gruesomely for a child ta have ta go through, wouldn't ya say?" She looked away and took a long drag. "Why did ya do it?"

A long sigh followed before she looked up again. When she did, she put a hand on his cheek and gazed into his eyes. It almost seemed like she was about to cry. With her other hand, she made a motion that Connor couldn't quite make out. Then she pointed upward.

"God?" he asked uncertainly, but she motioned that wasn't quite it. She did it again: waved her hand in a full circle around her head and then pressed her hands together as though she was praying. "I'm sorry, I don't quite understand." Slightly frustrated, she did it again, moving her hand around her head like a crown or a wreath or… "a halo? Somehtin' holy…" the word came to him like a pinch in the side. "Saint?"

"Yes." Her body language spoke for her. "Is that you?"

"I am…yes, I am a servant of God." He put out his cigarette in an ashtray and watched as she began to sign again.

He got bits and pieces, but she had to repeat herself a lot. "Brother?" he questioned. "Your brother, Lucien Carr?" She nodded and crossed her arms over her chest. "You love him very much." Her left hand pressed into her right and slipped off. "You'd do anythin' fer him." The next nod was sharp and she set her talkative hands on her tighs.

"He asked ya to?" She viciously shook her head. "Then why did ya do it?" Taking his hand in hers and stroking his palm, she showed him how soft her hands were and how thin her fingers. "You…didn't, did ya?"

Lauren took a deep breath and made a slow sign. "Help."

"Ya helped him kill 'er. 'Cause he wanted ya to." Her hands moved quickly and deliberately this time. "An' ya'd do it again, if he asked."

She pointed to herself and then put both her hands out—one palm up, the other palm down. Connor knew what she was asking, so he stopped the sign before she flipped her hands. His thumb stroked her palm idly. "Yes…you are going to die. But first I need ya ta tell me where I can find yer brother."

Lauren shook her head and made a few more signs. "I may be dumb, but I'm not stupid. Are you going to use a gun? You should do it soon, because I will _not_ let you kill him."

Connor looked away before she finished and growled quietly in irritation. "Don' protect someone who en't worth protectin'." But as soon as he said it, he felt like a hypocritical bastard. As soon as he saw her responding face, he winced. "I'm sorry…"

A few seconds of silence and Lauren put a hand on his should. She signed and he understood. "Behind the bar?" He nooded and stood; she followed.


	8. Best Men

_The air was too hot, it made it hard for Connor to breathe. He followed Lauren around the Red Fox and took a harsh, strained inhalation. What he was about to do bothered him more than he could bear. It hadn't been like this before. Why was this different? She was a _homicide_! She suddenly turned and faced him and the dim light played tricks across her face, making her look like an eleven-year-old._

_"On my knees?" her hand asked silently._

_Pressure built up in Connor's sinuses and he blinked a few times to hold back the tears he knew he shouldn't be shedding. "If ya want. Makes it a shorter fall…" He reached for the holster in his coat and pulled out his favorite gun._

_Lauren steadily sank to her knees and looked up at him. The gun was aimed at the bridge of her nose, but it was shaking ever so slightly. "Shepherds we shall be," Connor muttered in a cracked voice, "for thee, my lord, for thee. Power hath descended forth from thy hand that our feet may swiftly carry out thy command so we shall flow a river forth to thee, and teeming with souls shall it ever be." He swallowed harshly. "In nomine patri, et filii et spiritus sancti."_

_The gun was cocked and Lauren made a sound. He hesitated. She opened her mouth for a moment, closed it again in thought and then opened it once more and spoke. Her voice was scratchy and unused—like she hadn't spoken for years. "Thank you."_

_"What for?" Connor asked._

_"For understanding."_

"Connor stop starin' at the dashboard like ya want ta kill it. It en't gonna bite ya." No response, Connor didn't even chuckle. He just glared viciously at the bottom of the windshield. "Are ya alright?"

Murphy only took his eyes from to road for a moment to see his brother's poisonous gaze. He'd seen it once before and that was when they had been planning on delivering that ass fuck, Yakavetta, who killed Rocco. What brought it on now, and should Murphy be worried? "Okay, be silent, but don't break my window with yer pissy-eyed leer."

* * *

Friday nights are supposed to be relaxing. Even Malise gets a chance to relax for one night a week. After school on Friday is when she isn't bothered by her father because it isn't the work week and it isn't quite her weekend that he wants to ruin. She lay on her bed with her hands behind her head and she had a calm little thought buzzing around her mind. It took a while of wanting to write about things—mostly wanting to continue a certain little narrative she'd begun after the little episode she over saw from the window earlier that night—for her to realize that she didn't have her notebook. She shot up and ran to the desk, her heart suddenly went from zero to sixty mph.

"Where is it?" she muttered to the papers. The writing desk yielded many things (old stories, journal papers that had fallen out of a book), but the notebook was not amongst them. She reached out, pulled the edge of her banister and swung herself back across the room to the bed and practically crawled underneath.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs barely reached her ears in warning before her father grabbed her by the ankles and dragged her out from beneath her mattress. He had a look on his face that scared her out of her wits. Something said that her was _pissed_ and add the fact that he held her dear heart (her notebook) in a relentless grip. A growled statement: "You mind explaining this shit?"

"W-what?"

With a violent strength, he gripped her hair and pulled her up. She couldn't get her feet under her as she was dragged past the stairs to her desk as she clung to his hand to ease her weight off of her hair. She prayed to God that he wasn't talking about her stories. _Please say he hasn't read them_, she thought, _Please, God!_

"Don't lie to me, girl! Why do you have all of this sexual crap in your notebook?"

"I wrote it," she admitted quietly, tugging the fingers, trying to get them out of her hair.

"You little whore." He released her abruptly and seized a group of papers and yanked to tear them out.

"Stop!" Malise screeched desperately and tried to pull it away from him, but she was pushed to the side—into the stair rail. "It's not yours, you don't have the right to read it!" She stood again, but this time the hand that pushed into her chest knocked the wind out of her and made her light-headed as she fell backward.

It was almost in reverse play the way she hit the bottom of the stairs, landing on her head and shoulders. The force wasn't enough to hurt her too badly because when she tumbled, she grabbed the banister for a beat before all out falling back and down. Paper flew after her, scattering throughout the star case. This was the last straw for Malise—she just couldn't take anymore.

Once the paper had settled and the poor girl had gotten her wits about her, she forced herself to her knees and began to gather the many, inked ridden pieces of heart. Footsteps on the wooden step—slow mocking footsteps—came toward her, making her heart beat harder, louder. Shakily, she piled the papers up and absently rubbed an ache out of her shoulder. She wasn't crying and the sole reason for this was that she didn't want to show him her tears—he didn't deserve them.

Unsteadily, Malise got to her feet with them remnants of her notebook in her arms. There passed a moment of revelation: she had to leave. She watched her father take those steps closer to her and the pain in her head and shoulders whispered to her that she _had_ to get out of there! She ran—ran down the hall and out of the front door.

* * *

The TV had been on the entire time they'd been gone. As soon as Murphy entered after his brother, he smacked the set tiredly and shut it off. Both twins unloaded their artillery on to the table and sat down on opposite sides of the bed closest to the door and window (the door was never used). The air conditioning had kept the room cool enough to chill the sweat on the backs of their necks. Connor worked at undoing his boots as his body—the very way he moved—gave the image of his irritation. Murphy watched him over his shoulder for a while before removing her sweaty shirt.

The blond one hadn't said a word since he'd gotten into the car and Murphy was a bit worried. It wasn't like him to get so utterly pissed off…That was Murphy's job.

An astounding, nauseating lack of noise, pressure of still air threatened the dark one's sanity. He could take no more than three minutes of that before: "Ya alright, Conn?" It was more than expected for one brother to try and get to the other.

Connor's only reply was a low grunt as he tossed his shoes under the table and took his shirt off. He felt something poke the center of the small of his back. "So help ye, Murphy, that'd better be yer finger." Whatever it was drew a line up his spine making his ears tingle a bit. In a 

moment, Connor glanced over his shoulder because it didn't feel like a finger. Both pale hands went up his shoulder blades as a tongue lapped up his back to the base of his skull. Murphy began to run and massage his sibling's shoulders, trying to get rid of the tension there.

Bit by bit, Connor felt his muscles loosening and his eyes slowly closed when that tongue moved around to his ear. Murphy adjusted, scooted up behind the other, and pressed against him, a leg on each side of Connor. "Ya okay?" he repeated.

"Mm-hm," a positive, "Just keep doin' what yer doin'."

It was better for Murphy to see his brother content. In Murphy's opinion, Connor gave too much—too much of his time, too much of his heart—to make other people comfortable. This thing that Connor did (acting as a brother to everyone, _deartháir_, in Gaelic, if you will) was the only proof Murphy knew of as to who was older…who was the older, protective, caring, "bail you out of the jail cell" brother. So the dark twin had to make up for it; he had to give _something_ in return, though his selfishness made him wary of what he sacrificed—it was his human weakness.

"Ya gonna tell me what happened?"

After a beat, Connor leaned back against his brother and sighed. He took Murphy's hands from his shoulders and pulled them forward. Then he made a simple hand sign that he was sure the other knew.

"She was mute?"

"Yeah…"

"'s that it?"

"No…I just…I'm not sure anymore, Murph." He took Murphy's right hand in his and traced the Latin word AÉQUITAS with careful fingers. "We're sinners, Brother. How can we expect to be justified in killing other sinners? I mean, we _murder_ people…and we're…"

"Homosexual?"

"It's not just that, it's incest." Murphy hugged Connor tightly around the shoulders and nuzzled his face into the tanned neck. "Murph, I don't get it anymore. What am I s'posed ta do?"

For a moment, there was no answer. Murphy never really gave it much thought; it didn't much bother him. He did what he could to fulfill God's charter with them. "Destroy all that which it evil," he muttered.

Automatically, Connor finished it: "So that which it good may flourish." And that was that. The answer was there in those words and Connor was good with that. "Right." He turned his head and covered Murphy's mouth with his own. His hand lightly gripped the long dark strands of his brother's hair.

Just as Murphy broke the kiss to say something, there was a quiet knock on the door. Barely anything. Hesitantly, Connor stood, carefully detaching himself from his twin. They were silent until Connor opened the door slowly, revealing a battered, frightened, shaking girl. She was clutching a stack of papers against her heaving chest and she was wearing just her pajamas.

"Malise?" both asked in unison. She was rendered almost unrecognizable with the lack of her hat, her ruffled hair and her bruises on her face and arms.

"Thank God," she muttered. The fact that Murphy had said they wouldn't be there tonight had worried her. There was tears in her eyes and she was out of breath. Suddenly, she 

swooned and fell forward, her arms still wrapped around the papers to tightly that it was no wonder that she was light-headed.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ!" Connor shouted as he caught her. Murphy had stood and helped his brother pull her in and get the door closed. She was relatively unresponsive as Connor hefted her into his arms and said: "Murphy, wet a hand towel, will ya? She's overheated."

* * *

Nicholas: Sorry to leave you with a cliffhanger, I just thought I'd keep my reader's hooked in case I need to be away for a while. Anyway, I'd like to let you know that I have not been beta-ing my chapters. I can only contact Becki every once in a while, but I still wanted to get my chapters up, If you see any mistakes, forgive me and my fingers that like too type faster than they really can.


	9. Pale Saints

Nicholas: Here it is. There will be translations and such and such in the end note, so...yeah...don't know what else to say.

* * *

"Jesus fuckin' Christ!" Connor shouted as he caught her. Murphy had stood and helped his brother pull her in and get the door closed. She was relatively unresponsive as Connor hefted her into his arms and said: "Murphy, wet a hand towel, will ya? She's overheated."

Murphy obediently went to do as he was told and Connor set her down on the unused bed. Gently, he patted he cheek and tried to wake her. "Malise…C'mon dear." He knew that she was alive and nowhere near danger, but just to make sure she was aware that he was here for her he was to keep her eyes open.

He took the damp cloth from his twin and put the cool rag on her neck and forehead, dabbing her sweat-soaked skin. He was careful of her bruised face and the bump on her head. At least it was lump and not a crack or something fatal. "What happened to her?" Murphy asked quietly.

With a roll of his eyes, Connor shot his sibling a condescending look. Once more, he tried to wake the poor teenage girl. "C'mon hon, open yer eyes." He spoke gently and softly, and it was almost as though her ears were unaccustomed. She didn't quite register that it was directed at her. Her mind wasn't taking in much of anything beyond the cool cloth on her forehead until she felt something tugging her papers away.

"No!" Her eye shot open and she held tight, pushing Connor's hands away blindly. "It's mine!"

"Yeah, it's yours, but…" Carefully, he tried to ease her hands away from the bundle. "I'm not trying ta take it away, but let go so I can put it on the table." When that didn't work, he stroked her the backs of her hands idly. "Alright, I'm sorry…keep it."

"What're ya doin' out so late?" Murphy asked before Connor could speak again. "Yer in yer pajamas an' it's one o' clock in the fuckin' mornin'!"  
"I'm sorry…" she mumbled. His voice sounded a bit harsher than he probably intended it to. "I'm so sorry." And then she began to all out cry—loud, jerking sobs and high-pitched whining as tears spilled out of the ducts in the corners of her eyes.

Murphy blushed shamefully and his heart cracked at the sound. He stepped back dejectedly a to let Connor—who was giving him a testy glare at the moment—comfort her, which he did by letting her sit up and lean against him as he patted her back. "Go lock the door, Murph," the blond one muttered.

For a long while, Malise was confused. The fact that she'd run away was half-fantasy—she had no idea that she'd actually done it. She was mentally still lying on her bed, day dreaming at "one o' clock in the fuckin' morning" and her dad pushing her down the stairs was still just an imagined excuse to get out of there. She couldn't comprehend that it had truly happened. Most of her life had had her feeling so weak and small that she thought that she couldn't do anything and she now didn't believe it when she had.

"S'alright," she heard Connor's thick accent say, but was that really him? Was he there to save her once more as he'd done before? It was just a dream, she was sure of it. She had no right to wish that of him. But still, that he stroked her hair and said so softly and kindly with that Irish voice: "S'alright, girl, yer safe now," was so comforting that it just _had _to be real.

Safe? She was safe now, meaning what? Shouldn't she feel safer in her own home than locked in a motel room with two men that she'd barely known for not even two weeks? Hah, funny how things work out like that.

The fuzzy static of her surreal feeling cleared and she felt solid arms around her. It hurt to suddenly feel the intensity of her crying and how her body hitched and pulsed of its own accord. She tried to stop herself. Her thoughts wandered past the sound of her own choking and coughing to where she was pressed against Connor's bare chest. The word _brother_ came to mind as she considered his torso being the most comfortable shoulder she'd ever had to cry on. He smelled like what she'd expect a man to smell like—cigarettes and sweat. No fancy cologne or anything like that. For some reason it was more aromatic than it should have been; it was enough so that she felt herself calm down in that fragrant air.

At last, she one hand fall from her heart and wiped her tears from her face. Connor released her and ran his thumb under her puffy, red eye to chase away the moisture. "There, now," he said, smoothing her light blond tresses with his fingers. "Told ya yer hair's prettier when it en't hidden by yer hat."

Malise tried to smile, but it was teary and her face was still scrunched against the burn behind her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said.

"Well, wait, why're ya sorry?"

"I shouldn't have run away."

Murphy had taken to sitting on the other bed. He couldn't help feeling a bit superfluous as he watched how suavely his brother took care of his new little sister. God, Connor's a beautiful person, always caring for people when they need it most. He was thinking this when he spoke, trying to be as gentle in tone as his twin. "What did ya run from? Yer da?"

She looked at him tiredly and tried not to be distracted by the tattoo of "Norman" on his chest. _Why is there another man's name on your skin?_ she wanted to ask. To focus, she shook her head. "I ran because…he…I didn't want to deal with it anymore." The papers were set in her lap. "He ripped up my notebook and…pushed me down the stairs."

Murphy stared blankly at her for a moment and the silence was chilling. Connor noticed that restrained twitch of his sibling's foot and the knowledge of what he was going to do allowed Connor to stand at the same time Murphy did. "Murphy, para. Sientate!"

The dark twin ignored him and pulled his shirt back on. The guns were still in their holsters and lying on the table. Connor quickly went over to stop him from picking one up. They couldn't go out shooting guns off when they were on the trail of a particular criminal—especially when this particular criminal's sister had just been killed. "Párelo, calmar abajo!" Malise couldn't catch the Spanish, not as though she'd understand anyway, and she was amazed that they knew more than just English and French.

"Chinga te!" Murphy shoved him into the wall and Connor literally fell back. Abruptly, Murphy slammed his fist into the wall. "J'ai dit à tu!" He'd switched to French like he was breathing. "Son père est abusif! Pourquoi ne peut-vous pas écouter moi?! Merde!" He grabbed his own hair in frustration and then opened the door and ran out, leaving it swinging open.

"Murphy!" Connor shouted after him.

"Ich werde ein Getränk erhalten," came Murphy's disembodied voice from down the hall. Another amazement…They knew German.

For a few long moments, Connor stared at the door with a contemplating stare. He eventually did get up off the floor and close the door. When he looked over to Malise on the bed, his expression was still a bit piqued. She found it startling and wasn't sure if it was directed at her. He saw her cringe slightly and he suddenly forfeited his gaze. "I'm sorry, Malise."

"Why?"

"No one should have ta experience Murphy's temper so late that it's early." He smiled ironically at her still-frightened visage. "Don' worry…he'll be back later taday."

"You sure?"

"O' course. If he wasn't plannin' on comin' back, he wouldn't have told me where ta find him." She gave him a questioning look. "The nearest bar. I know fer a fact that Murphy wouldn't leave me over a little squabble like that."

At this, Malise found herself able to smile and laugh. She now saw them as brothers—_truly_ brothers. Before they had only been siblings because they said so. For a while, all she could think of them as were lovers, but now she saw their bond. "Leave me" was ambiguous. She saw it as it could have been—as if a brother could break up with a brother—and then as the long, strong chain that fastened them together whether they wanted it or not.

"Ya hungry?" Connor offered. "It en't breakfast time, but if I sweet talk that lady at the front desk she'll get me some free food."

"Is it the same lady that flirts with Murphy?"

"Nah, this girl works the late shift. So how about it, ya hungry?"

"Sure."

She stayed on the bed as Connor tugged his shirt back up and stuck the key in his pocket before leaving the room. The first thing she did when he was gone was pull the blankets up from the bed and snuggle down underneath them. To her left was the other double bed. She wondered why that one was all messy and slept in while this one wasn't, but then she realized that it was just more proof that Connor and Murphy weren't just brothers.

The remnants of Malise's notebook were at the foot of the bed and she considered reaching down and hugging it to her chest once more. As she thought of it, she didn't see the point. There wasn't any danger here, in this motel room that belonged to her new twin brothers. She felt she could at least trust Connor to respect her heart. There was a smile on her face and she laid down on the fresh-smelling pillow.

* * *

Translations: **Spanish**

_Murphy, para. Sientate! _Murphy, stop. Sit down!

_Párelo, calmar abajo!_ Stop it, calm down!

_Chinga te!_ Fuck you!

**French**

_J'ai dit à tu! _I told you!

_Son père est abusif! Pourquoi ne peut-vous pas écouter moi ?! Merde!_ Her father is abusive! Why don't you ever listen to me?! Fuck!

**German**

_Ich werde ein Getränk erhalten._ I'm going to get a drink.


	10. Boondock Saints

Nicholas: Hope you enjoy this chapter. It took me a while, but it's all done now.

* * *

_Couldn't quite hear what they were saying, but it sounded like a chant. Some kind of recitation that snuck up through the cool, damp darkness of the San Bernardino back alley. Who was saying it? Malise couldn't see very well for a while. It was as if she'd just woken up after being knocked unconscious. Two black, tall figures, men by the tone of their voices. They were the same height and had similar accents. "Murphy?" she muttered on a whim._

_One of the men turned around and when he moved out of the way, she saw another person sitting on his knees beneath the twins. "Oh, dear. Don't watch," Connor pleaded, hiding his pistol behind his leg even though she'd already seen it._

_Malise couldn't see the face of whoever they wanted to kill—and somehow she _knew_ that they wanted to kill him. She pushed herself up on her arms and stared wide-eyed at them, but didn't make any attempt to scream in the horror of the situation or tell them to stop. Carefully, she got to her feet and stepped back uncertainly. "I…what's going on?"_

_Murphy walked up to her and took her arm gently. "The will of god, Malise, so I'm gonna need ya ta look away. Ya don' need ta see this."_

_The pleading in his eyes was enough to make her acquiesce. It was the most vivid thing that she could see at the moment. The blueness of his irises and the crinkle in his brow. It was concern—the same concern that he'd shown when he stormed out of the motel at seeing her all beat up. Malise nodded sharply and turned around. Clacking footsteps moved away from her and the chant started up again. As Malise tried to distract herself from what she knew was going to happen. There wasn't much to see, the alleyway was dank and misty like early morning._

The sound of a gunshot made Malise start awake. It was just past three according to the digital clock on the night stand between the two beds. Through groggy eyes, she saw movement in the window silhouetted by the light of the hall lamps. It looked like…something from a romance movie. A shadow of the kiss in the moonlight.

* * *

The air was bitingly cold inside the diner. Murphy thought it looked more like a bar than anything else. He walked up and sat down in one of the burlap seats at the counter. "So this is the Mug," he muttered as he looked around at the racecar and football paraphernalia along with the many signs advertising different beers. "My kinda place." Usually he would've have smiles, but right now he felt like shit.

"So where'd ya hear from us from?" He looked up quizzically to see a very large, female bartender smiling warmly at him. "We don't see many strangers here."

"Ah…Me brother told me there's nice people here, so I thought I'd see fer meself. I don't see many nice people these days." And that was the sad truth.

"Are you the other twin, then?" The purely astounded and confused look made her laugh so hard that the only other customer in the place actually looked up to make sure everything was okay. "Malise came by about a week ago and introduced me to an Irishman who she said had a twin. Now what was his name?...I just remember that he had very good manners."

"That'd be Connor," Murphy said with a nod. "Yeah, he's me brother."

"You don't sound very happy about that." She raised an eyebrow. "Are you mad at him?"

The Irishman looked up at her awkwardly. He didn't like that question and he didn't want to answer. "Can I get a beer, please?" he changed the subject.

"As soon as you stop moping all over my counter."

After maybe ten minutes it was decided that since Murphy had no designated driver, Shelley wouldn't allow him to have more than three bottles of Heineken. He wasn't actually sure he wanted any at all, but being that he couldn't think of anything better to do, he took the first gratefully.

"So who's that guy sittin' in the booth by the window?" he asked at length.

Thinking that Murphy was making an attempt to keep his mind off of some fight he'd had with his brother or something, Shelley was willing to offer all of the information she could. "He's a regular. The folks 'round here call him Lou, but I'm not sure if that's his actual name. I don't talk to him other than taking his order."  
"Lou?"

"Yeah, but that's beside the point, when are you going to make up with your brother?"

Murphy sighed and gave her a look that told her that she was definitely butting in on what she shouldn't have been. He didn't feel like making up just yet because he wanted to be mad for a little bit and damn her that she couldn't see that.

* * *

Connor was barely uncertain when he went to the front desk to see that cute little girl name Jenifer who ran the night shift. Girl was almost a perfect description, because she looked like she didn't belong out in the work place at all. Don't get me wrong. Given the right inclination, she could probably do some serious damage. Still, she was a nice girl (and she had a crush on Connor and he knew it).

"Hey there, Jen," he addressed her with a smile. "How's the night owl traffic?"

"Oh, I've just had some of the usual creeps come in and go out. Nothing serious…nothing I had to press the silent alarm for." She smiled and leaned forward on her elbows as he approached the counter. "What can I do for you?"

"I was just wondering if I could convince ya ta swindle something like an early breakfast outta ya. I kinda suddenly acquired another mouth ta feed." Jen gave him a weird look. "That sounds weird, but that's basically how it happened."

"Tell me it's not an infant."

"Ah, yeah…about a fifteen-year-old infant, sure. I wanted to get her some breakfast before she went to sleep. If not, I'll go out and get fast food er somethin'."

"Nah, don't worry about it, I'll get you something."

Once early breakfast had been squared away into Styrofoam boxes and bags and handed over the counter, Connor waved her good bye (good morning) with a charming smile. "I'll see ya later. And thank ya much. I will make it up ta ya, dear."

"Don't worry about it."

As he was walking down the hall, he used one hand to try and fish his key out of his pocket. It brought a smile to his face to remember the time that Malise had bought him lunch and 

he'd almost lost the food. This time he had a bag to keep the thing on his arm. It was a strange thing to think about when he was walking to his room. Then he looked up and saw someone coming toward him.

Out of impulse, he stopped and tensed, and almost automatically the other stopped and looked up. They stared at each other for a moment before Connor finally continued with careful, contemplating steps. Murphy stayed still right by the window watching his brother. "Hey there, Murph," Connor muttered, "Ya…ya okay?"

He nodded slowly and took a deep breath. The pause he took sounded considering and tired. "I'm sorry…" he said, "I shouldn't've pushed ya. An' I didn't mean ta yell in front o' Malise."

"S'okay, dear." The blond put an arm around his brother and pulled him into a half-hug—impeded only by the fact that Connor had a bag on his other arm. Immediately, Murphy hugged him back. "You were just angry, there's nothin' ta apologize about."

Both arms clasped tightly on Connor's waist and Murphy laid his head on his shoulder. "I'm such an ass sometimes."

"Aye, I know."

Murphy then, without any warning whatsoever, brought one hand up to lay at the back of his twin's neck and kissed his lips deeply. Connor swayed slightly being pulled forward, but stayed on his feet in his brother's embrace and he returned the kiss, parting his lips passively. His hand tensed and then relaxed in its grip on the plastic bag.

"Love ya, Conn," Murphy muttered against the other's mouth. "m'sorry."

"S'alright." The blond felt a hand sneak into his pocket and knew it wasn't his own. "Ya better be reachin' fer keys in there."

"That among other things."

* * *

_The gunshot sounded and Malise stiffened abruptly. She understood immediately that this signified that whoever was on the ground was now dead. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, the girl opened her eyes without being aware that she'd closed them and saw something startling. A boy from her school named Matthew Rogers was walking towards her, but he wasn't looking at her. He was looking at the two men and the body behind her. She turned around._

_Matt clapped his hands together and Connor and Murphy raised their eyebrows simultaneously. Suddenly a crowd of people came out of nowhere and began to give applause for the Saints of San Bernardino. Without knowing why, Malise started to laugh. The body had disappeared and nothing seemed serious about it anymore. The look on the twins' faces was absolutely hilarious._


	11. Sleepy Hollow

Nicholas: Enjoy, mates. I know I enjoyed writing it. Tell me if you find anything either funny or awkward. There might be somethings that aren't quite fitting, but I'm not sure. That's what this site is for!! Love ya all!

* * *

It was warm. Something was strange about that, but she had absolutely no idea what that was. Her bed was always warm in the morning. It was never this warm, but Malise wasn't complaining. It was comfortable. At first she wasn't quite awake and the pillow over her head kept the morning light out of her eyes. As she dwindled there, in the realm between dreams and reality, she smiled to herself. Never before had she felt so rested and this was a sensation she'd relish in. Usually her father woke her up before the sun came in through her window—and he did this violently if her alarm hadn't woke her up before he checked on her. Wait a second…her father…

"Oh shit!" She tossed the pillow to the side and sat up, scared stiff that she was in trouble for sleeping in. Light trickled through the sheer curtain in the space that the blackout didn't cover. After a beat, it dawned on her. "I don't have curtains."

Thank god for that. Nothing was a reassuring as remembering that she was not at home and in the danger of more bruises, but instead in a motel with brothers that had taken her in. Looking at the digital clock on the night stand, she realized that it was almost noon. Jay Neal would have a shit fit if he knew his daughter had stayed in bed so long.

With a smile, Malise pulled the blanket off of herself ignoring the cold of the air conditioner. It was still a bit dark, but since her eyes were already adjusted, she could see just fine. It was a Saturday and she was glad of it. If she missed school, she knew that Verónica would be worried that something extremely bad had happened to her and the last thing she wanted to do was put her friend through that kind of scare. Stiffly, she got up and balanced in her sleep-ridden state. Her head finally cleared and she looked around again.

The other bed was occupied, and by the looks of it, Murphy had come back some time last night. It quickly occurred to her that the twins must have made up because they were…well…for lack of a better word, they were spooning. Connor's back fitted perfectly against Murphy's chest and the arms wrapped around him protectively—the rest of them was covered by the blanket. Malise smiled and blushed slightly before overlooking them and walking around their bed. Those little suspicions that had been nagging her since the day before were becoming more and more proven.

Carefully and quietly, she went to the table and sat down in the chair so that her back faced the bed and poked at her wounded notebook. It was in terrible condition. Almost all of the pages were ripped from the metal spiral, but there was a section of blank papers still intact. Slowly, she picked up a paper that was covered in her scraggly, blue handwriting and set it off to the side. She began to gather the ink-covered pages and separate them into a pile from the blank pages. There were definitely less blank papers than not. She couldn't help but wince as she stacked up the different piles.

In all actuality, this was her fourth notebook since she started high school and she was only half done with it—she'd had it for two months. With this information, her book may seem a bit less valuable, but dear reader, take into consideration: this is the record of her heart. It is the descendant of the ones that came before it and with the congregation of all of these journals the spirit lies not in the book but the ink on the pages. But all out of order…it loses that pulse and it makes her heart hurt.

For a long while, Malise sat back and stared at the book, tears starting in her eyes. It would take her forever to put it all in order and she desperately wished her damn father hadn't done this to her. She put her head on the table hopelessly. Life is just hell on earth.

The light poked over the room and pushed Murphy's eyes open—no matter how much he didn't want it to. Immediately, he recognized where he was and that his arms were still wrapped around 

Connor's waist. Stiffly, he lifted his head and kissed his brother's shoulder with a feeling of apology still clinging to his gut. It wasn't often that he gave himself cause to have to apologize, but now that he had to, it would take a bit to make the nagging sense go away. Trying to be careful, he pulled himself away and succeeded in getting out of bed without waking he twin.

"'Mornin', Malise," he said once he saw her sitting there.

She looked up, as though she was startled, but then smiled in relief at seeing it was just him. "Yeah, more like afternoon."

Murphy laughed quietly and searched around for his jeans—being that he didn't feel comfortable wearing just his boxers with a young girl in the room. After he had then pulled on, he sat down in the other chair at the table and hesitantly touched the papers. "Think you'll pull through?"

"I…" the question caught her off guard, but she quickly recovered. She just didn't expect him to have any understanding at all of how much the journal meant to her. "Yeah, I should think so."

"I'm glad." Murphy sighed awkwardly once the chat had ended and a silence took over. He then realized that he didn't really know her well enough to talk about anything. He didn't have any idea what her interests were beyond writing, and he preferred to keep off that subject because he wouldn't be able to write a creative story if someone held a gun to his head as "motivation." Well…now would be a good time to get to know each other. "So what d'ya write about?"

"Uh…" It was obviously a subject that she wasn't sure she'd liked to go in to. "Well, I write…adventure stories…romances. Stuff like that."

"Really?"

"Yeah…I have a few characters that I like to write about a lot. So most of my writing is about them. Just really long or really short quips and drabbles of things they could do, situations they could be in. Someday I might put them together into a large novel or something."

"Cool…Ya have a favorite character?"

"Yeah, her name's Dr. Caitlin O'Donnell. She was a surgeon for a long time, but one time she screwed up with the anesthesia and her patient died. She took her early retirement and never touched a scalpel again." The way the girl spoke of it seemed like she was talking about a real person that she'd known at one point in her life. It was eerie, but interesting.

"That's pretty sad."

"Well…Life can throw some pretty bad pitches sometimes…"

It took three, long moments for it to sink in and then Murphy had to physically grabbed the table to keep from falling down laughing. "Hah! Ya just made a metaphorical comment about baseball!" When she raised her eyebrow, obviously confused, he decided to explain. "Connor an' me always make fun o' that sport 'cause…well…it's a really stupid sport."

"I don't disagree. I always liked boxing."

"Now that's interesting, 'cause I was a boxer when I was younger."

Her eyes quickly lit up. "Really?"

"Yeah, in school I was the best in my weight class." For a moment, he sounded like he was bragging. "Loved fightin' so much back then. Did it fer me job when I came ta America, but that was illegal, so I won't go inta detail."

"Unlicensed boxing…interesting."

With a smirk, Murphy sat back. He wasn't sure whether or not he liked that she knew about things like that, but he quickly decided that it was probably because she had to know these things to write about them. "Dr. O'Donnell overdid the anesthesia, then?"

"Yeah…"

"What was it? General or local?"

"Um…it was a general anesthetic, but I don't know enough about that kind of thing."

"Well, it could have been a less used drug, maybe the patient was allergic ta what she would've used so she had to improvise with…something like vecuronium bromide, it's easy ta overdo that."

Malise blinked a few times, surprised at him. "I like that idea…I'll keep it in mind, thanks."

"Yer welcome." It felt good that he knew something about her now. He knew she was creative, intelligent, and eager to learn. Hm…if she was a year older and he didn't have a completely contradictory sexual orientation, he'd be attracted. "O'Donnell…" Maybe there was one more thing he knew about her. "Ya like Irish names?"

With a smirk, she nodded. "I like most things Irish. That's why I like you."

"Aw, that's harsh. It en't me witty charm or dashin' good looks?"

She started laughing and then he started laughing and they completely forgot that there was still a twin sleeping. Well…he _was_ sleeping. "Shut it!" Connor groaned quietly, "fuckin' Commie." Then he rolled onto his back and fell back to sleep.

For a moment, Malise just stared at the blond Irishman, a bit startled at his sleep-talking. She glanced at Murphy, who snickered and shook his head hopelessly. "Nevermind him…he's just got a slight case o' idiot-itis."


	12. Indecent Proposal

Nicholas: Long chapter. This is a turning point in the story, that's why it's so long. Also...there's smut at the end, just so you know. ConnMurph of course.

* * *

"He's not an idiot," Malise commented after a beat. The few things she knew about Connor included that he was a very intelligent guy.

"Ah…he has his moments," he snickered. "He's being a bit rude right now, though." After a moment's hesitation, Murphy got up and went over to his sleeping brother. "Watch this."

Gently, the dark-haired MacManus petted Connor's hair and then turned his head to the side without waking him. Murphy bent his head down and flickered his eyelashes across the other's neck. Suddenly, the blond stirred and groaned and picked up his hand to tug his brother's hair. Malise wasn't all that shocked, but the blatant display, like every one before it, did catch her off guard. Connor's eyes fluttered open and he whined quietly. "What're ya doin'?" he asked hoarsely.

"Bein' obnoxious. What else do I do with me life?"

When Malise giggled, Connor looked up and remembered that she was there. At that point, and I stress that this was the exact point, he got a bit angry. He pushed himself up from the mattress awkwardly and pushed his brother away from him. "Don' be an ass," he whispered sharply.

"We talked about this last night." Murphy had a smug grin on his face. "Ya never were a mornin' person."

"An' never will be," he snapped, rubbing his head. "Ya feelin' any better, Malise?"

She didn't quite get that he was talking to her at first. He wasn't even looking at her, but when he looked up, she realized she should answer. "Oh, I'm fine now. Thank you." Then, feeling that her gratitude might be a bit out of place, she spoke again. "I mean, for not kicking me out."

"Don't worry about it. What makes ya think me brother has what it takes ta turn his little sister out when she's in need?"

She gave Murphy an odd look. "Sister?" Sure she'd considered Connor a big brother of sorts because he acted like one (and that consequently made Murphy a brother as well), but it hadn't occurred to her that it was a mutual feeling.

"Yeah, why not? Yer small and need protectin'."

"Murphy, I think ye should watch how ya talk ta the lady. Don't make her turn red."

Malise coughed awkwardly. "That's not embarrassment." With a calming sigh she gave Murphy a playful glare. "That's planning revenge for your little quip."

With a triumphant smile, Murphy sat back down in his chair and put his arms behind his head. Connor and he seemed to be having a staring contest of sorts except Connor looked like he was being condescending while Murphy was being an arrogant child. Malise couldn't help but giggle half way through it and consequently had those gazes turned on her.

"S'not polite ta stare, Malise," Murphy stated with a mock-snide air.

"Unless, o' course, yer starin' at me twin's ugly mug."

"Of all the no good—!" And that's what started it. "It" happened to be that Murphy tackled his brother to the ground and held him there until Connor cried uncle three times.

* * *

"It" ended with Connor finally being allowed to put his pants on—because he openly complained about being tackled in nothing but shorts being a bit degrading. Once they had all settled down. Connor looked over Malise's notebook and winced in much the same way she had. Murphy noticed the eerie similarities, but kept it to himself like some naughty little secret.

"I need ya ta talk ta me, Malise," Connor said at length, a bit too serious for the light air in the motel room. "About what yer Da did ta ya last night." He sighed when she gave him a wary look.

After a beat, Murphy decided the try to aid his brother. "Listen, dear," he said quietly, putting a hand over hers on the table, "Ya ran away from home. I'm not holdin' that against ya, but if ya explain ta us what he does, it'll give us a better understandin' o' yer situation."

"And…?"

"And what?" Murphy asked.

"And what do you plan to do with a better understanding of my situation?"

"Well, try ta help ya get through it, dear," Connor stated. She didn't seem swayed, but Connor was determined on being persistent. "If ya want help, er if ya think ya need it, that is."

Murphy continued that thought. "But if ya don't, yer not as smart as I thought ya were."

Narrowing her eyes thoughtfully, Malise cocked her head to the side. "Okay, listen. If you're going to ask me questions, and you expect me to answer, I'm going to ask you questions and I expect you to answer. Is that unreasonable?"

"No," Murphy stated, but Connor nudged him.

"That depends on just what ya plan on askin' about."

Satisfied, Malise nodded shortly and put her hands in her lap, looking down at them. Nervous wringing was what she saw and she wanted to try and hide it like she always did. "My dad read my notebook last night. I don't know how I managed to leave it alone. I usually sleep with it." A quite laugh. "Sounds silly doesn't it?"

"Not at all," Connor stated firmly, sitting down on the bed.

"Well, my father got a hold of it and apparently he read something in there that is…more…not for minors or parents to see."

"Wait, what kind of something is this? XXX rated?" Of course Murphy would be the interested one.

"Yes, I'd say so."

"When you fix up that book o' yers, can I read it?"

Connor smacked him upside the head. "Keep control, Murphy! No one wants ta know what ya do with yer 'alone time.' Go on, Malise."

"Well…" Normally she would have been laughing, but her mind was set on something that wasn't funny at all. "He (Dad, I mean) called me a whore, pulled me out of bed by my hair and started to tear the pages out." Tenderly, she stroked the pages of her wounded, blue inked companion. "I tried to stop him, and I actually grabbed my journal, but he pushed me backwards and the next thing I know I'm at the foot of my stairs with papers flying everywhere."

Murphy was biting his thumb nail—but since there was no actual nail, he was chewing on his skin. To calm him, Connor put a hand on his shoulder. "How long has he been doin' shite like this," Murphy asked carefully.

She shrugged and glanced at the window curtains. "I don't know. I don't remember a time that he didn't do it. Just…last night, I…I actually thought that I was going to die." Her throat got a bit tighter, but she refused to let herself cry. "That's the only reason I ran."

The twins nodded in an almost unnatural sync. They glanced at each other and then Murphy took a deep breath. Something tugged and poked at Connor's insides and he decided now was a good time to say something about it. "I'm sorry that I didn't believe you, Murphy. You were right." At Malise's confused look: "He was on to this since the first day we met you, but I was being to chicken shit to listen. Sorry."

"I didn't expect you to do anything. But I appreciate that you guys care so much about me." Wiping her face, she grew suddenly very serious. "Now I have a question. There were guns on the table when I got here this morning. Why do you have guns?"

The MacManuses stiffened slightly and looked at each other. "Well I have to have an excuse for having access to nail polish, don't I?" Murphy stated, trying to be light-hearted.

"Don't ignore the point. I need to know before it drives me insane."

"It's simple really. They're tool of the trade. Our trade just happened to be killing for God. We've been commissioned by God to take out evil, one man at a time." As soon as the finished statement came out of Murphy's mouth, Connor reached over and shoved his shoulder sharply. "What?" The smile on his face was something other than playful joking, but Malise didn't comment.

"Jesus, if ye aren't straight forward."

"We had a deal, I had to answer her question."

"Wait, are you serious?" Malise's eyes went wide. "You use those guns to kill people?"

Murphy nodded grimly and raised his right hand. "This, aéquitas, means 'justice,' and Connor's—" He pointed and the blond raise his left hand to show the tattoo. "—veritas means 'truth' and that is what we kill for. We kill evil men in the name of God."

"People," Connor said abruptly, "We kill evil _people_, remember?"

Shaking his head, Murphy seemed to begrudgingly agree. "It's our calling, an' we do our best ta fulfill it. We put the guns away in case they made ya nervous."

"It wasn't the guns. It was my imagination going wild with the possibilities of what they were for. Now that I know…" She cleared her throat awkwardly, unsure of what to make of this. "…I'm hungry."

Murphy looked at Connor who then remembered that they'd already eaten that breakfast he'd meant for Malise. "Well…" he began.

"I can go to the Mug and get pizza for lunch."

"By yerself?" Murphy asked, "No. That's not gonna happen."

"Don't think you can condescend me. I would go anyway…but I don't have any clothes." She shrugged. "I can't go out in my pajamas."

After a beat, Connor stood and went to the chest of drawers. Murphy questioned him when he pulled out a shirt and jeans and handed them to Malise. "I think I have a belt if ya need it. Ya can have some money fer lunch an' clothes. I think the first thing you should get is proper under garments, but that's my opinion."

Murphy stood and grabbed his arm as he turned to go to the closet for a belt. "Wait, yer gonna let her go alone?"

"Why not? She's probably safer on her own than walkin' around with one of us. You do realize that the police have started lookin' fer us, right? An' o' course, that means that dirty cops connected ta the kinda people we 'do away with' will be lookin' fer us too."

"Okay, okay," Murphy yielded. He smiled and nodded to Malise. "Just be careful, alright?"

She changed quickly in the bathroom and then left a little hurried, but not until she promised Connor—without Murphy's knowledge—that she would come back. "You didn't scare me off," she assured him. "I just need some air, okay?" And then she went to do her shopping, leaving Murphy and Connor staring at each other, both with something to be slightly irritated at the other about.

As always, Murphy forgot his quickly and Connor didn't. When the blond sat down on the bed, Murphy sat down across from him a smirked. The other glared venomously. "Don't look at me like that," he snapped playfully, poking his brother on the head. "C'mon, what I do?" He reached over to touch Connor, but his wrist was stopped in its tracks.

Connor dug his nails into the other's arm. "Ye an' yer fuckin' butterfly kisses piss me off." The smallest hint of a grin disappeared quickly.

"They drive ya nuts an' ye know it."

"Exactly. It en't fair."

Sneering lightly, Murphy switched the grip and brought the tender part of his twin's wrist to his face. A short, chaste butterfly kiss had Connor sighing in a mixture of relaxation and fury. "Shh," Murphy cooed.

He grazed his teeth over the protruding tendon and Connor's fist clenched and he grabbed his brother with his free hand. "Murphy, behave."

A tongue loosened Connor's fingers and lapped at the tips and it wasn't just any tongue, it was Murphy's. "I am behavin'," he breathed into the open palm. It was the same old deal as always as the dark-haired man pushed his only sibling down to the bed. He didn't hear when Connor uttered a distinct "waitasecond" under his breath.

The blond had to shove him to detach the other's mouth from its journey up his arm and shoulder. "Wait…how some ya always get ta be on top?"

"Uh…I don't know." He kissed Connor's lips shortly and sweetly. "I'm just used to it that way, I guess." For some reason, Murphy felt bad when his brother rolled his eyes and tossed his head back into the pillow. "What, Conn?"

"Don't ya give it a bit o' leeway?" He wrapped his arms around Murphy's waist and pulled him down to the bed, rolling gracefully on top of him. To say it was awkward would be an understatement from both perspectives. "See, now. Was that so hard?"

Murphy didn't reply: a) because Connor immediately occupied his mouth and b) something about it didn't feel right. It was strange to have Connor actually take the reins and as much as he should have been perfectly okay with the change, he couldn't escape the sudden feeling of being trapped. He moaned, albeit loudly, at having Connor's hands on him, but the moment that he closed his yes, he felt terrified. It was almost like being locked up in a closet or a box all alone, and that has to be Murphy's greatest fear.

Instantaneously, Murphy started to struggle and Connor stopped and pulled away. "What? What is it?" he asked concernedly.

"M'sorry…I can't do it…" The dark one started to babble for a short time. He said things along the lines of being scared and not knowing why and Connor immediately felt like he'd done something wrong.

"Shhh…" the blond man stroked the other's hair gently to quiet him. "S'alright, dear. I didn't know you'd…" He stopped only because in all honesty, he had no idea what had happened. "Well, whatever, it's okay."

They stared at each other for a long moment before Murphy finally took a deep breath and calmed himself. "I guess I just en't cut out fer it, then," he commented wryly.

"That's okay," Connor admitted, "ya don't need ta be." Carefully, he slid off the bed and onto his feet. "I think I'm…m'gonna take a shower er somethin'."

* * *

The water had a range of burning hot to freezing cold. Connor liked that. It wasn't like their old apartment where the water was either lukewarm or ice cubes falling out of the faucet. There was nothing like a nice, warm shower to relax the tension in his muscles caused by a panic attack and the remnants of his guilt for Lauren Carr. Whenever he was alone, he remembered he and contemplated not talking for the rest of his life.

He probably had just cause to blame his inner demons on Murphy, but he would never dream of doing that to his other half. Murphy didn't deserve that.

Absently, Connor found himself with a strange urge: one he hadn't felt since he was back home in Ireland. "When Irish eyes are smiling," he sang, "Sure it's like a morning spring…"

"I forgot the words a while ago, " Murphy stated bashfully as he stood in the steam-filled bathroom with the door closed behind him.

"Aye? Me too…" Connor didn't need to look to know it was his sibling lover—never would. "It really is a silly song."

There was a beat of stillness filled only with the spray of warm water on the tile floor and over Connor's body. Then the shower door opened, the blond didn't turn around. Murphy, now stripped of everything, closed the glass door and hugged his twin from behind. "I'm sorry that I can't give meself ta ye," he muttered into the other's shoulder. "That of all things I should be able ta do, I can't do that." He slid a hand up Connor's thigh and gripped the hip lightly.

"Yer not perfect, Murphy," the other stated, his voice drained by the sucking at his neck. "I en't gonna ask ye ta be."

"I know, but that doesn't mean I can't try fer ya anyway."

Murphy reached around and turned the water on a little hotter and then leaned back against the wall taking Connor with him. Both hands now gripping his hips, he nudged the other's feet apart until the sides of Connor's ankles were pressed against the tile wall and the glass door.

"It's hot," Connor whined quietly, referring to the water that poured from the showerhead and struck his abdomen and below that. He lifted both hands and slammed one against the wall and the other the door.

"Not as hot…as ye look right now." With an arm around the other's waist, Murphy pulled his lower half back, slowly but surely guiding with the grip on his hips. Connor's throat let out a sharp cry and his entire body grew stiff as rigor mortis at being penetrated.

Murphy drew both of his hands up this shaking body in front of him and slid them out along the blond's arms. "I can't give meself ta ye," he repeated gently. Abruptly, he pushed Connor awkwardly both forward and to the side until he was pressed against the glass door. He could barely see the foggy reflection in the bathroom mirror. "But I can take ya." With a quick, sharp movement, he was back inside his twin and Connor moaned wildly while his cheek pressed against the clear, glass of the shower door. "An' I can hold ya." A thrust and Connor's hands flexed in Murphy's grip on them. "Love ya." The other whimpered delicately as his legs were spread just a bit more. "an' I need ya. An' God knows I need ya more 'en anythin' else in His blessed creation."

"I…I…ah, God!"

"S'alright, lover. I'm holdin' ya. I'm here…"


	13. Diamond Hunters

"Thanks, Tony," Malise said with a smile as she gathered up the individually packaged foil boxes of supreme pizza. "Tell Gramps I said hi, will you?" "Gramps," of course, was Tony's grandfather, Tony Trozera. He not only owned the Mug but he also was something close to the Grandpa that she never had.

"Yeah, will do," Little Tony said, about to walk to the back room. Suddenly he turned back with an expression as though he'd just remembered something. "Oh, right! Shelley told me to tell you that she thinks the two guys you hooked up with are really nice and she's proud of you for having a good eye." He winked suggestively.

"Oh, back of, you creep!" Malise snapped with a smile. "I didn't hook up with anybody, they're just my friends."

He raised his hands defensively and shrugged. "Ah-I'm just sayen if you really know how to pick 'em, you should keep in mind that you have to dump one before you date the other." Abruptly, he dodged a smack at his head. "Okay, okay! I'm just kidden!" With a snicker, he stepped back slightly. "But seriously, be careful with guys like these."

"Guys like what?"

"Just shut up and watch yourself, understand?"

"Okay, I will. Thanks, I'll see you later." Gathering up in a brown paper bag her lunch, she lifted it off of the oak countertop and smiled at Tony one last time before he disappeared into the back room. Turning to head towards the door, she shrugged the Walmart bag with her clothes in it on her left shoulder and the Mug bag with her food in it on the other. Not three steps away from the portal to the outside world, Lou approached her, finally stepping out of his booth at the back.

"Hi, Malise," he said. Automatically, she gripped the strap of her bag as though she thought he'd try and take it. "How have you been?"

"S-same as always."

"That bad, huh?"

"Um…yeah" Malise didn't like talking to him. The only thing she knew about him was that he was friends with her father and that his sister had recently gone missing. People like that—particularly her father's friends—weren't to be trifled with.

"Jay's looking for you, little lady," he stated. "Did you know that?"

"Yeah, I was just on my way home." It wasn't a lie. Connor and Murphy were as good as family in her eyes and where else was home than with those who cared about her. Still, it wasn't honest in that it he would be deceived.

"Well, then tell the old man I'll see him tomorrow night."

"What, do you have a hot date?" Her face stayed completely straight when she made this comment.

"No, a business appointment."

* * *

Aside from being extraordinarily relieved that her conversation with Lou had come to a prolonged end, Malise had acquired a sudden feeling of apprehension. Her father was definitely looking for her being that he even told this shmuck (and she used that term lightly). One of the things she desperately tried to avoid was that man because there was something about him that just wasn't right. Sure, he was pretty nice to her ever since she was little, but he still didn't seem all there as far as his brain went. Shrugging off the unsettling feeling that his presence had given her, she crossed Cajon blvd. and went over the train tracks.

It was her least favorite part of walking in San Bernardino. She hated climbing precariously over the rails; the strange thought in her mind that she could trip and a train could come and cut her in half. She remembered reading the news once when these girls got their legs severed when they were sun-bathing on the tracks and fell asleep so that they couldn't move when the train arrived. Things like that horrified her—it pissed her off that there'd been pictures. (Still, it supports her theory that girls tend to grow up stupid in San Bernardino, which is if they grow up at all.)

As she was making her way, carefully over the rails, she noticed something odd. To her left, there was a shivering lump of chocolate, brown fur hiding in between the metal bars. It made Malise stop and look, just to see if she was seeing something that wasn't really there. However, it was there and _it_ looked up at her after a few minutes. Big, sad, brown eyes on a long, narrow face met hers as though it was on the verge of tears. Immediately, for some strange reason, Malise knew two distinct facts about this animal. One was that it was female and the other was that it was not only a dog, but part wolf as well, and as frightened as she probably should have been of a stray animal, she felt that the pup was more so.

Cautiously, Malise reached into the bag on her right shoulder and awkwardly took out a slice of pizza and then kneeled down in front of the animal, offering the food with an outstretched hand. "Here you go…are you hungry?"

The dog lifted her head curiously, giving the human before her a skeptical gaze before reaching towards the pizza. After sniffing it for a good, long moment, she took it in her maw and pulled it away from Malise. The slice lasted about three seconds after that.

"I guess you were," the girl commented heavily.

Malise then noticed something wrapped tightly around the she-wolf's neck and when she reached out and touched the rope, she realized that it was caught between the metal rail and the wood ties. She found the end of the rope and uncovered the knot that was tied to a harness around her shoulders and front legs. It sickened her that someone would just leave an animal out here like this. "Here, let's get you out of here," she said, pulling the cord from the rails and wood. Slowly, carefully she pulled the harshness so that the she-wolf could crawl out of her hiding place.

The girl found it a lot easier to knock rather than just open the door. She had this hunch that it would be locked anyway, only because she knew that the twins needed to be careful in regards to their occupation, but even if it wasn't that didn't prove that she lived there. In fact, she was almost dead set on leaving soon for the sake of being the one to come home rather than be found in hiding by her father. The idea of that scared her more than anything, so when she got in there, 

she would definitely tell them that she wasn't staying long. She had to…unless she was distracted.

When the door opened, she backed up slightly, seeing Murphy all dripping wet with a slight flush on his face. He smirked at seeing her and his voice held a very happy tone to it. "Ya know ya don't really have ta knock," he stated. Then he looked down. "What…what is that?"

"This is a dog, Murphy," Malise began slowly, "I found her on the train tracks and she doesn't have anywhere to go, so I just—"

"A dog?" He was obviously miffed for lack of a better word. The way his face twisted from happy, languid content to "ewww" was proof enough of that. "O…"

Malise though that he turned away from her and went inside to hide a curse. She followed him, tugging the dog's rope gently and encouraging. "She's a nice dog. And she likes pizza. I just couldn't leave her there, I couldn't." Closing the door, she kneeled down beside the dog and fluffed up her ears so that she had a pouty, sad face. "How can you turn that away, Murphy?"

Connor had just finished what may or may not have been a difficult trial of putting his pants on when he looked up. With a smile, he tugged a T-shirt over his head. "A dog!"

"Yes, we've made that establishment, Conn," Murphy teased.

"Where'd ya get the dog?" Connor shoved his brother's shoulder playfully and then went up to the she-wolf to pet her. He laughed as she sniffed, licked and nipped at his hands. "She's a feisty one, she is. Can we keep her?"

"I thought I was supposed to ask that." Malise began to loosen the knot of the rope that was attached to the harness when she saw a very intricate array of flowers held in one place by a very nice vase on the table by the window. As she stared at it, wondering where it came from, she looked at Murphy, and then Connor. The latter was walking away—well actually sort of limping away—while the dark-haired kept his gaze locked firmly on that limp. One more glance at the flowers and she blinked, needing to know, but blushing at the thought of asking. "I was thinking of naming her Vicky," she stated to stay on that subject.

"Vicky? Why Vicky?" Searching the nightstand for his cigarettes, Connor awkwardly sat down—something a little uncomfortable with the motion.

"I—" Malise cleared her throat and kept her eyes on the dog. "I knew a girl named Vicky. She was a nice person and she loved wolves…so."

"She…died?" Murphy guessed.

"Yeah, hit by a drunk driver."

Now both twins were looking at her, with the eerily similar gaze that they had. "They catch the fucker?" Of course Connor would ask that.

"No…he didn't stop…he just kept driving through the intersection while my friend was trapped in the van he'd hit…Anyway, she loved wolves and this one looks like a wolf so…"

Sensing the sore subject, Murphy decided to let it lie, and apparently Connor had the same idea because neither said anything else about it. Instead, Murphy lit his twin's cigarette and stuffed the lighter in his pocket. "I guess it can stay," he agreed begrudgingly, "but keep it away from me, I'm allergic."

"The fuck yer allergic. Ya think someone who's known ya all yer life would know that."

Finally getting the knot undone, Malise let Vick go and she immediately went up to the bed—the side that Murphy was at—and that dog jumped on him and slammed him down to the mattress. Both boys let out a matching, high-pitched squeak, Murphy because he thought he was being mauled by an animal—and he didn't like being pushed down by anyone, mind you. Connor's cry was a bit more because he fell off the bed and onto his sore ass and it seemed to hurt like a bitch.

"Vicky! Wait," Malise scrambled over and grabbed the harness to pull her back.

Getting up just a bit too quickly to not be suspicious, Murphy pulled his bare feet (toes painted black) onto the bed. "Okay, this is why I like cats! There's less of a change that they'll try to hold you hostage."

"Oh calm down," Connor said, a pained laugh as he got up.

Malise caught herself staring again. She looked at the flowers once more in some sort of distracted awe. "Um…" but she couldn't entertain the venture without feeling very odd about it.

Looking at her with that oh-so-knowing half-grin, Murphy took to ignoring the dog. "Hey," he said to catch her attention. "Out with it, kid. Ya have a question, ask it." When he saw her startled twitch, he wanted to laugh. Unfortunately, Vicky was putting a layer of cold saliva on his toe. "Go on! Get outta here," he snapped.

Connor took the dog of Malise's hands and coaxed her over to the bathroom to clean up her fur a bit. Malise started to stutter, but tried to force that away because she really wanted to know. "Um…I was—was just wondering…Where did you get the flowers?"

"Hm? Oh," he looked like he'd forgotten they were there. "They're for Connor. Don't know who sent 'em tho'."

"They aren't from you?"

With a surprised, uncertain blink, he considered that for more than a moment. "What makes ya think they'd be from me?"

"Uh…I…don't know, I mean…why not? I mean they're nice flowers and they look like they're from someone who holds feelings for Connor and you…well you love him, don't you?" Immediately, she thought she'd said something wrong because his face turned to one of shock (almost like he was angry, but not quite). "I mean, like a brother, of course, that's obvious, but…a…uh…"

He got up, rolled his eyes and offered a hand to help her stand up. "Yer babblin'. S'not becomin' of a young lady. What's on yer mind?"

Hesitant to take his hand, she eventually took a deep breath, got to her feet and started more calmly this time. "I was just wondering…because the other day I saw…through the window…"

"Yes…? C'mon the suspense is killin' me."

"I think you…Do you…How far do you take brotherly love?" She couldn't really bring herself to look him in the face; it didn't really seem like something she should have any right to bring up at all.

After a moment, he snickered lightly. "I don't take it at all," he muttered, "but Connor takes it all the way. At least as much as I give him." When he looked to his left, he was surprised to see his brother standing in the door frame to the bathroom, a very pink, very apparent blush on his face. "Hey there, pretty boy."

"Fuck you, douchebag," He snarled, rubbing his face as though it might alleviate the heat of embarrassment there.

Malise wasn't shocked at all. Now she knew for sure and that's all she'd wanted, so it was good. "It's okay, I know it isn't really my business, but I thought…"

"Ah don't worry about it." Vicky poked her head out from behind Connor as if to see what was wrong and when she did, Connor leaned down and ruffled the fur on the scruff of her neck. "They're sneaky little gossip-mongers aren't they," he muttered in a tone that one would use to talk to a dog except for a slight begrudging air. Pushing her gently out from the doorway, he stood once more. "Anythin' in particular ya wanted ta know about it, Malise?"

At this, her faced turned a darker color than Connor's had. She looked at her nervously wringing hands and sat down at the table. "I—not…I mean I don't really know…Maybe, why?"

"Well why not?" Murphy asked. He and his brother both chose the same time to sit and unfortunately in the same place. "Ey!" Murphy snapped, ending up on the other's lap on the bedside.

"Oh hush." Connor just shoved him playfully, but retained his position with dignity.

* * *

Nicholas: Finally got this chapter out! Man it took forever. Not only the actual writing part, but the fact that I lost my drive (which has ALL of my current stories on it) and only found it recently--oh jesus was I scared for my life. Anyway, hope ye likes and will leaves lots and lots of those yummy reviews!!


	14. Cowboy Bebop

Nicholas: Whew!! I'm back in business, guys! I told you I didn't abandon any of my stories. Here's a fun chapter to make up for my absence.

* * *

Lazing around just seems like the best thing to do on a Saturday; it's basically the only thing that Twins can think to do when they aren't preparing to kill someone or something like that. Before, they never really had to worry about boring each other (because there wasn't much they could do about that since they were pretty much stuck together), but now that Malise was there, they figured that they might want to make her comfortable. "Being that ya don' have yer notebook," Murphy had said, "it just makes sense that we try ta distract ya from yer loss." So they decided to play cards, which had somehow materialized in Connor's nightstand drawer—but we don't ask questions, we never ask questions. In any case, they blew most of the day away playing poker; the twins both took to losing to the girl without even planning to and she noticed something odd, but didn't mention it. By the time the evening came around, Malise had a very subtle bout of confidence nestled in her gut that hadn't been there before, even though she knew that they weren't trying to win. Either way she liked it.

"Well," Murphy began at length, stretching until his back cracked, "I'm done with this…honestly, losing me shirt to a teenager."

"Ya haven't lost yer shirt yet. Believe me, I'd notice." That was Connor and it made the girl laugh. "But really, I think it's about time I turned in." Reaching down with his left hand, he mussed Vicky's fur and stroked her ears gently. "Even she's getting tired, look."

"It's only nine o'clock."

"We're old, dear," Connor stated with a smirk. "'Sides, Murphy needs his beauty sleep or he gets grumpy."

At that, aforementioned twin stood and tossed half of the deck of cards he'd be gathering from the table in his brother's direction. "Fuck ya, old man. I on the other hand, don't think that turning thirty-one in October means that I'm too old ta stay up late."

"Oh shut it, ya idjit." Indignantly, Connor abandoned his seat to pick up the cards that were now strewn across the floor before Vicky got her nose in them.

While they continued bickering, Malise sneaked to the bathroom to quickly change into her pajamas. The time alone gave her free range for her thoughts and she used it to wander somewhere deep within the confines of her imagination—places no one else had discovered—and create. It was never hard for her to think of little plot lines and good scenarios (the hard part was putting them on paper), and she often enjoyed being able to put herself right in the action. She only ever got to do this when she was alone and it was safe to slip into those dark recesses of her brain. Mumbled words tumbled out of her mouth—lines, dialogue from _both_ sides of the conversation. Right now, she was thinking of Jason Kreit: the German American, a drifter in Northern California facing the persecution ahead of him because of World War II.

Pulling her shirt over her head, she imagined Jason on the side of the road, bruised and beaten like how this story began. Currently, she was little Caroline driving down a highway with her mother. "Father is MIA," she muttered, donning her tank top. "Mother don't you see him? He's there." And then Mother would gasp and pull over, worried about the state of health a man had to be in to sit on the side of the highway like that.

This was the easiest way for Malise to make her world her own. What with her father being a bastard, she didn't have much freedom to live life to its fullest. It often made her wonder how things might be different if her mom was still alive. Jay Neal had loved his wife more than life itself, and when this little girl came along and took her away, it was a natural human reaction to hate it. Not saying that Malise believed he had just cause for some of the things he did to her, but she did understand (if only a little bit). And sure, a strange as it may be, she'd written quite a bit about her father—what he may have been like before she came along. In her mind, he had been a nice man at one point in life, a kind-hearted, sober gentleman…okay maybe that is pushing it.

Once she had her PJ bottoms on, she emerged from the peaceful hallow from her mind—deliberately, but reluctantly—and peeked out of the bathroom to see that Murphy had succeeded in tackling his twin to the floor and was holding him in a strangle hold (though of course, not strangling him). With a nervous, slightly amused laugh/sigh she beckoned Vicky towards her and sent her bounding in Murphy's direction.

"Hey! That en't fair!" Murphy quickly abandoned the fight at hand and tossed himself on the bed to get away from the dog that was after him. It didn't help much because Vicky just leapt nimbly onto the bed and started to lick him wherever she cold reach. "Get off!" he demanded, pushing at the canine futilely.

With a snicker, Connor pushed himself to his feet. "Serves you right," he muttered.

When Malise saw him stick his tongue out at his twin, she realized that that had to be the most childish thing she'd ever seen him do. It was awkward because the last thing she would expect would be for Connor to be anything but mature. Then, as he stood there with his arms crossed defiantly over his chest and his chin in the air, he looked more like a stubborn child than anything else (a very _tall_, stubborn child, all the same). It disappeared in a heartbeat when Connor suddenly rushed over to get the dog off of Murphy.

"That's enough of that, I should think," he stated playfully, though the slight concern that had donned his face was apparent. He grabbed Vicky carefully around the neck, careful not to startle her, and pulled her back gently.

"You're very good with animals," Malise observed—lacking anything else to say.

"Well, I deal with Murphy, don't I?"

Murphy sat up on the bed in a furious flurry. "Oh shut it, ya little bastard!" His mouth was turned down in a frown, but Malise had this feeling that this was how they sometimes expressed their love.

It occurred to Malise, in the silence that followed this that there were two beds and two twins—and being that she could add—and though she was sure that they probably shared most of the time, she didn't want to impose. Awkwardly she cleared her throat to break up the glaring contest that had started between brother, and shuffled her bare foot into the carpet. "So…I'll sleep on the floor then?"

Immediately, and by the look on Connor's face, she knew it wouldn't fly. When he scoffed—almost angrily—at the suggestion, Malise felt a blush start to heat up her cheeks and knew that all the way down to her bare shoulders had to be flushing pink right then. Still, she hadn't known any other way to get the dilemma out in the open.

"Don't be ridiculous," the blond said firmly, "it'll be a cold day in Hell when I let a teenage girl sleep on the floor ta try an' make _us_ comfortable. Ye can have my bed." He motioned to the one farthest away from the window—the on that she'd slept in last night as well. "S'not like I'm not accustomed ta sharin' a bed with that." He hiked his thumb over his shoulder in Murphy's direction (making clear who _that_ was).

Sliding up to the edge of the bed behind Connor, Murphy put an arm around his waist. "Yer actin' like ya don' wanna…" he muttered with a cheeky grin. "Weren't complainin' last night…er maybe tha's just 'cause yer mouth was otherwise occupied."

Almost as quickly as Murphy said it, Connor thumped him sharply on the back of the head. Groaning at his brother's high-pitched laughter, he rolled his eyes. "That's not somethin' ye should go about mentionin' in front of a sixteen-year-old girl." Despite his sharp, authoritative tone, there was an unmistakable tint of pink on his cheeks. (Malise didn't feel so left out anymore.)

"It's alright," she stated with a shrug, "There's not much you guys can talk about doing in bed that I haven't already written something about."

Both men then stared at her as if she'd grown another head—quite an embarrassing sort of way to look at someone—but before she got the chance to turn beet red, Murphy started to snicker. "I gotta read these stories o' yers." That earned him another sharp thump on the head.

Raising her eyebrow, Malise took a moment to consider what Murphy was talking about. Then she turned to Connor. "Why is he such a pervert and you're so normal?"

Shrugging as if to say "hey, we're fraternal, what can I do?" Connor cleared his throat before muttering: "You have no idea…he jerked off in the _womb_." And that was reliable information coming from the man that had shared said womb with him.

"I'm _not_ a pervert…I'm perverted, there's a difference." Murphy was smiling cheekily behind two fingers that he pressed against his lower lip.

Malise just shook her head hopelessly, knowing that this wouldn't end any time soon. She looked at her new dog and smiled, then looked back and Murphy and shrugged. "I'm gonna sick Vicky on you again…" she told him.

"What!? Why?" The alarm in his tone made his pitch jump—as only an Irish brogue can do so silkily—and both Malise and Connor started to laugh at him. Murphy was less than amused being that whatever joke it had been was at his expense. "Careful Malise, I think yer catchin' me brother's asshole-ism," he murmured, scratching idly at his lip.

"Oh hush," she said quietly, watching Connor sit down and stare thoughtfully at the flowers that still sat, untouched, on the table. She noticed his forlorn looked, even though he must have been trying to hide it because he dropped it as soon as he noticed she was watching.

"Should we get to bed then?" he mused, now effectively ignoring the floral arrangement.

"As long as you promise there'll be no funny business during the night." She mainly directed this at Murphy, who just shrugged with that wry smirk of his as if to say "I'm only human." "Or at least wait until I'm asleep…"

"Oh don't worry, dear," Connor said, shoving his twin sharply, "I'll keep him in check."


	15. Devil's Own

Nicholas: Hm...Here's another chapitre for ye dearies. A little Murphy and Malise bonding.

* * *

It doesn't come to mind to wonder about _anything_ until asking questions is impossible. Sitting at the table, staring at the bed where twin brothers lay cuddling each other in a way twin brothers shouldn't, she wished she could find the right words to express her curiosity. Malise knew full well how gay sex worked—sometimes wished she didn't, just to spare her mind the thoughts of the disturbingly well-known-as-gay young men at school. She written a few romance short stories about a gay couple or a man and a "she" man, but to think that…incest was wrong as far as she knew. She didn't even have to be religious to know that; it was just a common knowledge she'd adopted from her childhood on. So the fact that she was _well aware_ of the intensity of their relationship should have appalled her, it didn't even begin to make her squeamish. It's funny, really. She'd known them about two weeks, if that, and she was more accepting of them than she'd ever been for anyone else in her life.

It was around six o'clock when one of them stirred, breaking her thoughtful trance. As quickly as she could, Malise looked away from them and pretended to be preoccupied with sorting the pages of her notebook—her second attempt to do so.

"Ah fuck," she heard one of them mutter as feet swung over the side of the bed to hit the floor. "What fuckin' day is it?" Murphy dug mercilessly into his eyes with the heels of his palms.

The other figure in the bed—not quite identifiable as Connor because of the pillow that covered his face—rolled over onto his side with a quiet mutter. His arm bent at the elbow and clamped the soft, white cushion down onto his head, intent on getting a bit more sleep. Looking at his back, Malise noticed for the first time a long, sallow-white, jagged discoloration running down his right shoulder blade on his tan skin. It looked very old, he had probably gotten it years ago, but why hadn't Malise noticed it? Curiously, Murphy dragged the blanket up over him, as if to cover it up.

"Sunday," she stated, a little delayed in her reply.

With a wince, the pale twin rubbed his dark hair back—the long strands were a bit shiny from not being washed. "Damn, that'll make three."

Sitting up strait, Malise gave him a questioning look. Before she could ask, however, he went ahead and explained. "Three weeks," he stated, getting up to open the curtain a little bit. The sun was beginning to rise, and a soft, pink glow came up from behind the freeway. "Three weeks that we haven't gone to church. Three in a row."

"Oh…That's right you guys are Catholics."

With a pause, he looked at her, raising an eyebrow. "Ya say that as if it's a bad thing," he muttered. A laugh sounded as he turned his back and went on a quest for clean clothes.

Malise felt herself blush. "No! It's not a bad thing, just…I'm not and the only Catholics I've known were snobbish jerks. Before I met you, that is."

"Aye, I know what ya mean." A shirt appeared from under the bed Connor was currently snoozing in, and a pair of jeans was tucked away behind the TV. Malise considered asking how they got there, but it seemed moot at this point. "We're not all like that. What about ye? Ya don' strike me as the religious type."

Watching as he pulled gray cotton over the portrait of Michael and Lucifer on his back, Malise shrugged. "I'm not devout, I guess. I go to church sometimes, either when I can get a ride or Dad gets off his rear and drags along with him. I don't know…at times it feels nice to be with God, but others…I don't think He's really listening."

"He's always listenin'," Murphy insisted, tugging worn out denim on his thin, pale legs. His next search was a belt. "Even when ya don' want Him ta be." Something in his voice gave the hint of what he was talking about. It was the first evidence of guilt that the girl had heard from him.

"I'd love to believe that. Maybe He always has His attention on _you_, but I'd give anything for Him to take care of _me_ once in a while."

Murphy stopped dead, glancing over his shoulder to see her eyes lowered, hair covering her face the way her hat would be if she were wearing it. He wondered for a moment how deep this sorrow of hers ran. Even when she seemed to be happy, her smile was never real. Abandoning the belt venture, he turned around and took careful steps up to her. "Hey," he muttered, kneeling down in front of her seat, "Y'alright?" He bent down to try to see her face a bit better.

Turning away, she wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm fine," she lied.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing…"

He could tell immediately that she wasn't fine and _something_ was wrong. It was just the sort of thing he went through when Connor wasn't feeling right. Damn them for needing to hide their emotions. Firmly, but still tenderly, he lifted her chin and looked her in the eyes—her watery, reddening eyes. "Ya wanna cry, go ahead, but don' ya _dare_ think ya have ta hold it back jus' 'cause o' me. Now, what's wrong?"

Her forehead creased slightly as she stared at him in confusion. Taking a few deep breaths as a reflex to keep from breaking down like she did the other night, she put a hand over her eye to catch a stray tear. He looked so worried about her, and that was something beautiful in itself. It was just _so_ refreshing that there were people who cared about her. And that was the beautiful tragedy of it all. "You guys are so nice to me," she began slowly, carefully fighting the quiver in her throat. "You really want to take care of me and…I don't want to go back. I know I'll have to sooner or later because with your job you won't be able to look after a kid like me, but…I don't _want_ to go back."

Eyes softening invariably, Murphy reached up and brushed her hair out of her face. His smile was a bit unexpected, but he couldn't help it. "Then don't, it's that simple." He was very inspired, seeing her like this, even though he felt that he shouldn't have been. "Ya know what? Don' worry about it. The time'll come that ye'll have ta make a choice, o' course, but right now, don' let it bother ya."

Malise lifted the edge of her pajama shirt to wipe her nose before it started to run away. Blinking away the moisture in her eyes, she recovered herself enough to make a relatively straight face. "What do you mean?"

"Yer allowed ta stay with us as long as ya think ya can, dear. We're not gonna chase ya off 'cause o' yer da."

A few sniffles and vigorous rubs, she dried her eyes completely and straightened her back. "Thank you…You know what? I feel like going to church."

Murphy smiled widely, almost confidently as he stood, keeping her gaze until he looked over at Connor's back. "Well, where's yer church? I might be able to get him up."

"Oh, we don't have to be there until nine-thirty," she said, uncertainly. She wasn't certain, but she thought that Mass was early in the morning. "And it's not a Catholic church, but anyone can go, so I don't think they'll mind."

As he sat down on the bed, he gave a relieved sigh. "Nine-thirty? That's wonderful. I can get more sleep." He lay back, ignoring that he landed lop-sided on his brother. Connor just gave an annoyed grunt, choosing to let it go this time.

More light was coming in through the sheer curtains as the sun finally managed to crawl over the hill and throw itself into the sky. Malise smiled wryly as she looked at it. There was tightness in throat that she was trying to ease away by swallowing over and over again. It wasn't really working and she thought for a moment that it would never go away.

"What about church?" Connor removed the pillow from his face wriggled Murphy off of him.

"We're goin' ta Malise's," Murphy stated, adjusting to lie correctly beside his brother. "Not 'til nine thirty, tho'. Ya can go back ta sleep."

"Thank God in heaven," the blond mumbled, cuddling close to Murphy and nuzzling his face against the other's chest. He didn't quite remember that Malise knew about them, but he was too tired to care that she was watching so either way…

"Ye gonna get more sleep, Mal?"

With a raised eyebrow, she pulled her knees up to her chest on the chair. "Nope, I'm fine. I should probably get started on fixing my notebook anyway." That was a nickname he'd just used, and she _had_ noticed it. She wouldn't question it, though. It was proof of the connection they'd made that morning, the little opening that had officially been created in their family for her. And besides, she liked the name.


End file.
